


Sleepless in Shoreditch

by fushine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Meddling Kids, Shamelessly self-indulgent, a lil bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fushine/pseuds/fushine
Summary: Following Astoria's death, Draco and his son Scorpius move to a wizarding area of Shoreditch called the Phoenix District to start their lives over away from the manor and the memories that linger there.When Scorpius floos in to the wizarding wireless program "Professor Mentis' Mind Healing Hour" on Christmas Eve to find a new partner for his father, Draco grudgingly and anonymously discusses his feelings on air. Little does he know, a certain childhood rival is listening in.Harry and Anthony are newly engaged, but Harry feels unsure about their future together. When he hears a wizard with an oddly enticing voice on the wireless talking about love, Harry is captivated and confused.
Relationships: Anthony Goldstein/Harry Potter, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 43
Kudos: 438





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for a while just to write, but I figured I might as well post it. It's fluff and not incredibly well done, but it has been fulfilling its purpose: distracting me from life.
> 
> Based on "Sleepless in Seattle."

“Mummy got sick and it happened, just like that, and there was nothing anybody could do. If we start asking why we'll go mad. So, rule number one: we don't ask why.”

Astoria died shortly after their sixth wedding anniversary, on a cool day in late June, with Draco and Daphne at her side and Scorpius curled around her feet like a sleeping cat. Though she was his wife's sister and his close friend's wife, there was no love lost between Draco and Daphne. Despite the fact that their past was filled with a range of disagreements, the pair had long ago set aside their differences for Astoria’s sake and now tolerated each other with what looked a bit like affection if one were to squint. Daphne had even moved into the manor during Astoria’s last weeks so she and Draco could spell each other off, ensuring that the pale, dark haired witch they both loved would never be alone.

Astoria’s illness had been a long decline, the degradation and eventual disappearance of her magic over a period of months in a manner that left healers baffled and Draco making reckless pleas to any deity who might still take pity on him. If the gods existed they were not listening - Astoria had spoken her last words before falling into a sleep from which her breathing slowed, almost imperceptibly, to an end.

It took three months for Draco to enter the master bedroom again, and even still, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in their bed. When Astoria moved into the manor she had made it home not just for herself, but for Draco as well. 

Narcissa and Lucius had moved abroad following the latter’s release from Azkaban, leaving the palatial family home empty and cold in their wake and a twenty-two year old Draco at loose ends.  
He had re-ignited his acquaintance with Astoria at one of Pansy’s Slytherin Gatherings, then spent an entire year courting her and convincing her family to accept his proposal before they were finally engaged. It took another year for them to marry, but from the day she moved in to the manor Astoria had been waving her wand and setting things to rights. The pallor of despair that had settled over its many rooms following Voldemort’s occupation began to fade in the face of the diminutive witch; the dark, foreboding atmosphere had been transmuted by her love of plants and music, her laughter. When they found out (a mere month into their marriage) that they were going to have a child, they had fun picking out his room, collecting furniture and decorating, climbing high into their respective family trees to see who could suggest the worst ancestral name for their son:

“Kriemhild”

“Caractacus”

“Brutus”

Despite her death, Astoria was still everywhere in the manor, a ghost he hadn’t the heart to exorcise. Without her plants died, music sounded flat, and Draco forgot to open the curtains.

On the one year anniversary of her death, he decided it was no longer bearable. He packed up their essentials, shut the manor, and moved with Scorpius to a townhome in a wizarding area called The Phoenix District, an “up-and-coming area for the modern witch and wizard nestled covertly within the trendy muggle area of Shoreditch” according to their letting agent. It was also home to an “integrative” primary school bringing together wizarding and muggle-born families under a banner of tolerance. Astoria had always been firm in her belief that Scorpius should never know the prejudices of his paternal ancestors and Draco felt that in her absence he would have to soldier on alone with what they had planned.

Which is how he found himself dropping Scorpius off at his first day of primary school, suddenly unable to let go of his son’s hand.

“Papa?” Scorpius asked, tentatively tugging to see if he could pry his fingers out of Draco’s grip. He couldn’t. “Papa, can we go inside now?”

Draco blinked down at his son - he had the Malfoy hair, though it had picked up a slight wave by way of the Greengrass’ genetics so that it curled around the ears and temples of his pale little face. Eyes that were the same shade of blue as Astoria’s peered up at Draco with concern, and he felt a lurch of guilt at his own selfishness.

“Sorry Scorpius. Of course we can go inside.” He let the small boy lead him toward a row of cubbies; they found the one inscribed with Scorpius’ name in neat, precise handwriting, stowing his satchel and jacket before exchanging his wellies for soft-soled trainers. When Scorpius ran ahead of Draco into the classroom he felt a brief panic of loss, stumbling slightly as he hastened to follow.

His graceless entrance nearly brought him crashing straight into Hermione Granger.

“Malf - Draco.” She said in surprise, nearly dropping the hand of the child at her side. 

“Hermione.” He intoned politely, taking her lead in using first names. Her hair was styled shorter than it had been at Hogwarts, a cloud of neat curls rising up from her head. She wore a black robe open at the front over a purple dress and deep raspberry lipstick that looked lovely against her brown skin. Draco could not recall Hermione ever seeming so put together or confident in school, and he felt rather more intimidated by her now than he had as a boy.

“Is this your son?” She asked, then laughed “Sorry, of course he is, the hair is as much a giveaway as Rosie’s. Can’t escape those Weasley genes.” 

The child beside her who was evidently named Rosie looked up. “Mummy, who’s this man?”

“This is Draco Malfoy, Rose. He was in the same year as daddy, Uncle Harry, and I at Hogwarts.” 

Even though he hadn’t seen Potter in twelve years, Draco’s chest tightened slightly, surprising him with the reaction a mere mention had conjured.

Rose turned serious brown eyes on Draco. “You know my mummy from school?” She asked skeptically, as though she didn’t quite believe Hermione had acquaintances with whom Rose was not familiar.

“I do, though we were in different houses.” Draco said, already anticipating her reaction when she found his out.

“What one were you in?”

“Slytherin.”

“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “Freddie is in Slytherin too. Everyone was all upset about it but then they realized they were just being babies.”

“Freddie is her cousin - George and Angelina’s son.” Hermione explained, before turning to Scorpius. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” 

“Scorpius.” Draco said. “I’d like you to meet Hermione Granger.”

The small boy thrust out his hand and said, in a quiet voice. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And you, Scorpius.” Hermione gave him a friendly smile. “Are you seven like Rosie?”

“In November.” Scorpius said. Rose looked over at him as though it was the first time she had noticed he was there.

“We’re in the same class?” She said disbelievingly - Draco was beginning to think that curious skepticism was her default setting.

Scorpius nodded shyly, but Rose held out her hand.

“Come on, we’ll be friends. I didn’t know anyone either, when I started, and you’re too small to be left alone.” She said, pulling him with her into the circle of children that had begun to form on the rug in front of their teacher.

“Don’t worry, it gets easier every time you drop them off.” Hermione said reassuringly as she saw the expression on Draco’s face. “Rosie has been coming to school here since she was five, and I thought I’d pass out the first time I watched her walk away from me.”

Embarrassingly, Draco felt his eyes begin to well up as Scorpius looked back at him long enough to offer a brief smile and wave before turning around again.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” Hermione asked suddenly, a slight pink tinge of embarrassment rising in her cheeks when he looked at her in shock. “Only I know how difficult it is, on the first day.”

Draco found he really did need something hot to drink and it turned out Hermione was surprisingly good company They ended up at a trendy wizard coffee shop with which Hermione seemed quite familiar - she ordered a latte that came in a large glass mug with a handle. Draco ordered chamomile tea with honey and a bit of milk, following her over to one of the tables by the window. 

“Do you live in the area?” Hermione asked when they had both settled into their seats.

“We just moved here a few weeks ago.” Draco replied, wishing his tea would cool down enough to drink. “I wanted to be close enough to Scorpius’ school that we could walk there in the mornings, it saves time as a single parent.”

Hermione’s face grew serious. “I heard about Astoria, Draco. I'm so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It...wasn’t unexpected.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier.” Hermione hesitated for just a second, then placed her hand gently on his arm. “Grief is never easy.”

“So you’re married to Weasley are you?” Draco asked after a moment, when the tears that sprang to his eyes at her kind touch had dissipated.

Hermione smiled fondly. “Married with not one but two sprogs. Rosie’s the oldest, and then there’s Hugo who is one. As you can tell, Rosie already has a mind of her own, but you don’t have to worry about Scorpius once she’s decided he’s her friend.”

“Do you and Weasley both work at the ministry?”

“I do, but Ron doesn’t - he was an auror for about three years but hated it. Now he works with George at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and looks after Hugo.”

Draco desperately wanted to ask after Potter, but couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. He tried to silently will Hermione to reveal even a tidbit of information about her friend, but she seemed almost deliberately elusive, instead volleying the question of careers back at him.

“Blaise and I work together, he runs a potions business and I do most of the brewing. We're relatively successful.” This was an understatement on Draco's part, but he had grown up too much to brag.

A chime sounded from Hermione’s purse at that moment, and she dug around inside before producing a small, black plastic device with an opaque screen. She tapped the surface and it lit up, revealing text far too small for Draco to read.

“Damn, my meeting with the minister has been moved up and I’m about to be late!” She said, shooting out of her seat so fast she nearly upended her drink. “Sorry to run out on you, Draco, but it took me forever to get this meeting with Kingsley in the first place.”

“No bother - it was nice to see you again, Hermione.” Draco said, and was surprised to realize he meant it.

“We’ll continue this another day.” She promised as she rushed out the door.

Draco looked over at her untouched latte curiously, then exchanged his mug of tea for it and took a sip.

\---

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Anthony asked, leaning over to check his hair in the mirror above the mantelpiece.

“Well, Ron and Hermione already know you and they think you’re fantastic. Mrs. Weasley will love you because I do. Luna doesn’t hate anyone. Don’t let the blokes get to you, and all you’ll have left is Ginny - you must remember her from our school days?” Harry paused, then decided to be truthful. “She’s the worst of the lot, really.”

Anthony gave him a playful shove as though Harry was joking. “Alright, I think I can handle that.”

Harry had his doubts, but he folded them up and shoved them into the back of his mind where he kept the tiny, nagging worry that he and Anthony were making a mistake getting engaged so early. Hermione had told him a thousand times that he self-sabotaged due to childhood trauma and not believing he deserved anything good. Anthony was something good.

“Am I what they had in mind?” Anthony asked, an uncharacteristically vulnerable look on his face.

Harry leaned forward and kissed him. “They’re going to love you. Ready?” Anthony nodded, took hold of his arm, and together they disapperated.

They landed just outside the perimeter of the Burrow and stepped through the wards, which easily admitted them. The front door flew open to reveal Molly Weasley’s smiling face.

“Hello boys!” She cried, enveloping Harry in a tight hug before she turned to Anthony. 

“Pleased to meet your Mrs. Weasley.” He said, offering her his hand which she bypassed in favour of wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Call me Molly dear. Come on inside, the rest of the family is waiting.” She said, pushing both men through the door toward the dining room. Though Harry had been sure there would just be a few Weasleys to contend with, nearly the entire clan was assembled around a long table: Arthur at the head, Hermione and Ron with Rosie and Hugo, Ginny and Luna, Bill and Fleur, George and Angelina with Roxanne, Percy and Audrey with tiny little Molly the second. Charlie was still on assignment in Siberia, and the rest of the children were at school, but Anthony would meet them over Christmas after he had introduced Harry to his family at their Hanukkah celebration.

“Hullo.” Harry said to the room at large. “Everyone, this is Anthony. Anthony, everyone.” A glance at his fiance revealed that Anthony was slightly taken aback by the sheer number of people before him. He supposed that walking into a room with fifteen family members you hoped to impress might be a little daunting. Especially when you were an only child.

There was a cacophony of noise as everyone tried to introduce themselves at once. Ron pressed a beer into Harry’s hand as he and Anthony sat at the table.

“Brave man, your Anthony. Can’t say I’d face a crowd like this for you.”

“No, only an evil madman bent on destroying the world.” Harry retorted, clinking his bottle against Ron’s before taking a much needed drink. 

“How’re you holding up, Tony?” Hermione asked kindly from his other side. She and Anthony worked together at the ministry and had been friends for years. “Don’t let them scare you off, they mean well. For the most part.”

Harry smiled his thanks to her and took another pull on the beer, indulging for a second in the comfort of his family. Arthur had fallen immediately into conversation with Anthony about his half-muggle upbringing, with Rosie listening intently from where she sat in her grandpa’s lap. Molly bustled around putting down plates of food with help from Percy and George. Angelina and Ginny were leaning across the table now to introduce themselves, the latter taking Anthony’s hand in her vice grip to shake it. Ever since they had broken up eleven years ago (coming out to each other in a flurry of laughter and tears) Ginny had been the most ferocious of the Weasleys, interrogating Harry’s dates whenever she got the chance. Harry had never been able to return the favour - it was clear that Ginny and Luna were well suited to each other. They had been together almost since Harry and Ginny had split up and Harry had officiated their wedding (in bright yellow robes he hoped never to see again) three years previous. 

Once everyone was seated and had begun eating, Harry clinked his glass. “I have some news.” He began, taking Anthony’s hand. “I wanted you all to meet Anthony because, well, we’re engaged.”

There was a shock of silence before everyone started talking at once again.

“You’re engaged and you haven’t brought him to dinner before?” Molly demanded, chastising him in a loving but firm voice, happy tears in her eyes.

“When’s the wedding?” George asked, his mouth half full of bread.

“We should meet his parents, maybe you could invite them over next weekend.” Arthur suggested.

“It’s going to be a long engagement.” Harry said, raising his voice. “We didn’t - it sort of came out of nowhere, really. It just felt right, didn’t it Anthony?”

Anthony nodded. “I know it seems odd as we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months, but I really do love Harry. I hope you’ll see that as you get to know me.”

That did it - Molly was weeping openly now as she wrapped her arms around the pair of them. “Oh boys.” She sobbed against Harry’s shoulder.

After dinner, Arthur brought Harry out to his toolshed for a chat - Anthony had been cornered by Rose who demanded he explain Hanukkah to her in detail after Harry had let slip he would be meeting the Goldstein family at that year’s celebration. 

Once inside the shed, Arthur gestured to a worn looking stool as he leaned against the workbench which currently held a large satellite dish and two microwave ovens. Harry wasn’t entirely sure Arthur should be messing around with microwaves, but that didn’t seem to be the topic of discussion at hand.

“Listen Harry, I wanted to offer you my robes for the wedding.” He said, his ears going slightly pink the way Ron’s did when he was embarrassed. “It’s traditional for a wizard to wear his father’s robes, and seeing as you don’t have those I thought I would offer. All of my boys have been married in them, it only seems fitting that you would be as well.”

Harry felt his throat tighten with emotion. “Arthur, I’d be honoured.” 

Arthur accioed a box from the rafters and drew forth a set of deep blue robes with slightly lighter blue trim. Unlike many of the other items that had made their way through the Weasley family, these were in pristine condition. Harry shrugged out of his sweater as Arthur draped the garment around him.

“Where did you and Anthony meet?” He asked, adjusting the robes around Harry’s shoulders.

“Well, he was in the DA but I was a little too busy to really get to know him. It’s funny, actually, his office is near Hermione’s - he works for the DMLE as a prosecutor. Hermione and I went to the cafeteria to order lunch one day when I was visiting her, and Anthony was behind us in line. We both got the same order, and I made a joke about how we were perfectly matched.”

“You know, when I met Molly - of course it was at Hogwarts, in my sixth year and her fifth. One day I just saw her, really saw her, for the first time. I was walking down the corridor to potions and suddenly this book landed at my feet. I bent down to collect it and so did she, so I ended up holding her hands. You know, I couldn’t tell where mine ended and hers began.” Arthur laughed self-consciously. “It felt more like magic than anything I had learned so far in school.”

Harry felt a funny twinge of insecurity in his chest at this, but he pushed it down. “And now you’ve been married for -”

“Too many years to count.”

Harry reached up to straighten his glasses and there was a small ripping sound as the robes caught beneath his shoe and tore.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.” He stuttered - here he was, destroying the family heirloom that had been so kindly given to him. “It’s bad luck!”

“Nonsense” Arthur said, waving his wand to repair the rip. “Do you remember Ron falling over his own feet trying to waltz with Hermione at their wedding? These robes have seen more than you and I put together.”

Harry winced - he had quite vivid memories of a very inebriated Ron swinging Hermione around the room at breakneck speed. It would have been hilarious had Harry not spent the subsequent half hour cleaning Ron’s vomit and feeding him sobering potions so he could consensually engage in his wedding night.

“Well then, I’d be honoured to continue the tradition.” He said, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

Pansy had begun to make a habit of stopping by Draco’s home on Friday evenings for dinner. Draco cooked, of course, as he wasn't sure Pansy had ever actually touched a stove. In a bid to please both picky eaters - Scorpius was going through a phase where he wouldn't eat greens and Pansy had been finicky since birth - Draco usually made some sort of pasta.

Scorpius and Pansy got on surprisingly well; though Pansy was an avowed child hater, she always listened to Scorpius’ stories with an air of serious interest. She was also quite involved in the dramas of his primary classroom: in the month since beginning there Scorpius had amassed a surprising amount of stories about his classmates. Pansy listened to them all, from Rose Weasley-Granger’s latest antics to whether or not Maxine Strauss had been right in telling Scorpius she had a crush on him. (“Absolutely not, subtlety is key” was her most Slytherin of answers.) Pansy had also known the Greengrass sisters since their youth and could answer Scorpius’ questions about his mother. Draco listened with a mixture of pain and nostalgia as she talked; though it hurt to hear these memories, he couldn’t begrudge Scorpius the opportunity.

“Do you think papa will get married again?” Draco heard Scorpius whisper to Pansy when he had turned his back on them to stir the marinara sauce.

Pansy cleared her throat. “That’s something you’ll have to ask him.”

“Papa?” Scorpius asked. Pretending he hadn’t been listening in, Draco turned around.

“Yes Scorpius?”

“Do you think you’ll get married to another witch someday?”

“Or wizard.” Pansy quipped, then clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized she had just inadvertently outed Draco to his son.

“Can wizards marry each other? Do you want to marry a wizard?” Scorpius asked, wide eyed as though his entire world view was about to change.

“Thanks ever so.” Draco said to Pansy, wiping his hands on a tea towel before coming around to crouch down at Scorpius’ eye level. He had been waiting till Scorpius was a little older to have the “daddy is queer” talk with his son.

“Yes, wizards can marry other wizards. People can fall in love with whomever they want, and I happen to be a wizard who does not care about the gender of his partner.” It sounded a bit simplistic to his ears, but Draco wasn’t sure now was the time for a detailed journey into his romantic life. “And no, I’m not sure I want to get married again.”

“You’re so sad, though.” Scorpius said mournfully, reaching out a small hand to pat Draco’s chest. “Your heart broke.”

Pansy let out a loud sniffle that she attempted to muffle in her glass of wine, and Draco felt tears spring to his own eyes.

“I loved your mum very much, Scorpius. And sometimes it’s difficult to think of loving anyone else. Maybe someday I will find someone, right now it’s just you and me. And sometimes your Aunt Pansy, if she doesn’t tell you any more of my personal details. Do you remember Rule Number One?”

“We don’t ask why the universe took mummy away from us because there is no answer.” 

“That’s right. And here’s Rule Number Two - you and I are a great family all on our own. Although sometimes Aunt Pansy is there too.” He leaned forward to envelope Scorpius in a hug, tightening his arms around the small boy.

“Papa?” Scorpius’ voice was muffled against Draco’s shirt. “How did you know you liked wizards too? Did you ever like a wizard before you met mummy?”

Pansy laughed and muttered something that sounded a lot like what one would call a person who made their living working with clay. Draco glared at her as he pulled away from his son. “Maybe, a long time ago.” He said, tweaking Scorpius on the nose. “When I was at Hogwarts. But that’s in the past and right now I think our dinner is starting to burn.”

Later, after Scorpius had gone to bed and the two of them were drinking an expensive port in front of the fireplace, Pansy circled back around to the topic. “You know, Scorp’s right. You are sad.”

“Of course I’m sad, Pansy.” Draco was realizing somewhat belatedly that he had overindulged on the wine. “I’ve lost my fucking wife.”

“I know.” Pansy sighed. “I know. Eventually, though, you’ll start dating again. You’ll meet someone.”

Draco shook his head and drained his glass. “Yeah, I’ll start dating, it will be fantastic. I’ll just grow a new heart.”

Pansy looked hurt. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Draco sighed, and closed his eyes. “I'm sorry. Look, it doesn’t happen twice. I’ve had my chance. I was luckier than an ex-Death Eater deserved, and now it’s time to focus on Scorpius.”

“You can’t use him as an excuse forever.” Pansy sighed, draining her glasses and searching around for her wand so she could summon the bottle.

Draco snorted in an undignified way and topped her up. “I have at least eleven more years before he graduates from Hogwarts, don’t I? We’ll figure out the rest later.”

\---

Fall passed slowly into winter, and before Draco knew it, Yule was upon them. All the shops in the Phoenix District had colourful lights strung from their eaves and Scorpius’ primary school was festooned with non-denominational decorations (snowflakes, snow people - it seemed as though weather was the general, inoffensive theme). Every day, Scorpius came home with a different December tradition from around the world, among them popsicle stick reindeer, little plastic dreidels, a lantern he had decorated to celebrate Ligligan Parul Sampernandu, a drawing of the Gävle Goat, a hand-drawn guide on the different Jólasveinarnir one could expect to encounter, and a Krampus mask which he insisted on sleeping with under his pillow as an appeasement to the creature till Draco confiscated it.

Draco's coffees with Hermione had turned into a weekly date at the funny little cafe, the two of them meeting up after drop-off to chat over whatever strange coffee drink she could convince Draco to try. The novelty of sitting across from a person he had spent most of his childhood loathing and insulting had not yet faded for Draco. She had let him go through a heartfelt apology and self-flagellation once, then told him that would be quite enough. Despite this, Draco couldn't quite believe that Granger was now Hermione, and the girl he had called a mudblood was now a woman he called his friend.

It was during one of these coffee dates that he learned that Harry was engaged to Anthony Goldstein - an announcement which caught him entirely by surprise.

“Oh Draco.” She said, mistaking the shock on his face for dislike. “Do you still hate him after all this time?”

Draco took a steadying sip of his eggnog latte - he had become quite fond of them since their first initial meeting, though he still preferred strong black tea - then shook his head. “Just surprised, is all. I didn’t know Potter was-”

“Gay?” Hermione smiled.

“I always thought he and the youngest Weasley would end up married.” Draco said.

“You know her name’s Ginny.” Hermione admonished gently. “Anyway, I think Luna would have something to say about that as they’ve been married for three years.”

“I suppose I’ve missed quite a bit.” Draco said regretfully. The Greengrasses had lived close to Cardiff for generations, which meant that Draco’s social circle was largely Welsh by extension during his marriage, and almost non-existent on that end following Astoria's death. He hadn’t kept up with anyone from Hogwarts but the Slytherins, and had made a special effort not to track Potter’s progress. He was frankly surprised that Pansy hadn’t mentioned either Potter or the youngest Weasley’s proclivities, given how much she loved gossip. He would have to ask her about it later. “It’s only a shame I missed the Hogwarts coming out party.”

Hermione studied him. “Are you telling me you’re queer, Draco?”

Draco blushed. “Well, I would have thought it was obvious.” He said after a moment.

“I try not to assume anything about anyone’s sexuality. Or gender, for that matter.” Hermione said. “You know Charlie is nonbinary? They told us last year. I never would have imagined and it made me wonder - why? Why was I going around assuming everyone fit into these neat little boxes? If I restricted myself to one box I’d be what, a wife or a mother? I enjoy those roles, but they don’t define me. Logically no one role or binary state defines all people. You’re a prime example of that.”

Draco laughed. “Ex death eater, widower.”

“Father. Latte drinker.” Hermione nudged his arm affectionately. “Surprisingly fun and witty companion. If you told a seventeen year old Hermione that she would be sitting in a posh coffee shop decorated to the teeth for Christmas, with her friend Draco Malfoy, she would have laughed herself sick.”

“Well, past Draco would have hexed anyone who suggested such a thing. I was terrified of you.” He admitted.

“I know.” Hermione smiled. “That’s one of the reasons I forgave you. I don’t think you spent much time after fourth year being anything but terrified for most of your waking moments.”

“I’m just fortunate that anyone thinks I am redeemable.” Draco said honestly, taking another sip of his latte.

“In the end, Draco, you were a scared boy trying to keep his family alive, poisoned by hateful rhetoric which also happened to be the only thing you knew.” Hermione put a gentle hand on his arm. “I don’t hate you.”

“Does he still hate me?” The question was out before Draco could stop himself.

Hermione looked puzzled for a moment before understanding dawned on her face. “No.” She said. “Harry doesn’t hate you. Both he and Ron know we’re friends. Sometimes he asks after you.”

This revelation made it difficult for Draco to meet her eyes. He felt all of eleven again, his hand desperately extended toward Potter. Or seventeen, clinging to his back as the flames leapt towards them. He wanted to be asked after. He wanted Potter to be as curious about Draco's life as he was over Potter's.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” He said after a moment.

Hermione laughed. “If you think I don’t get the same interrogations from Harry about you then you’re delusional.”

Draco did a poor job of concealing his grin behind his mug, but if Hermione noticed she didn’t say anything.

\---

“This is Professor Mentis, and you’re listening to my Mind Healing Hour on the WWN.”

“Ugh.” Harry flicked the dial on the wizarding wireless.

“Accio Christmas, Christmas come to meeee-”

“UGH.” Harry flipped the dial back.

“Tonight we’re talking about Yule wishes. Do you have your heart set on something? Have you been hoping for your dreams to come true? Call in now, we’re listening.”

Harry slumped down in his seat, balancing a plate of fruitcake on his stomach. It was Christmas eve, and the sun had just set. Anthony was working late and things were weird between them at the moment anyway. After a second rousing Sunday dinner at the burrow with all the Weasley grandchildren, plus Teddy, home from Hogwarts, Anthony had remarked casually that he was happy they didn’t have any sprogs of their own. It wasn’t something they had discussed before, and Harry found himself stuttering out questions - did Anthony ever want them? (“Never”). Not even somewhere down the road? (“No.”) What about Teddy? (“Teddy isn’t in our lives full-time”). It hadn’t occurred to Harry till just then how much he did want to be a father, but when Anthony had asked if it was a problem, Harry had lied and said no. Anthony was good. He wasn’t going to sabotage that.

“We have our first floo call - what’s your name?” The smooth tones of Professor Mentis’ voice practically oozed out of the wireless.

“My papa says not to give my name to strangers.”

Professor Mentis chuckled. “Smart man. You sound a lot younger than our usual flooers. Why are you calling us tonight?”

Harry could picture Professor Mentis leaning forward as he sensed a human interest story that could be milked for publicity. He was almost ready to change the station back to Celestina Warbeck when the small voice said “My Yule wish is for my papa to find a new love.”

“Don’t you like the one he has now?” Professor Mentis sounded like the kind of adult who shared secret, mocking looks with other adults over children's’ heads.

“He doesn’t have one now, that’s why I’m calling.”

There was a brief pause. “Did he have one before?” 

“Yeah.” The small voice got quieter. “My mummy. She died.”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling grief pool in his chest for the child. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Professor Mentis’ voice had grown softer.

“I’m very sad, but my papa is worse.”

“And you’re worried about him?”

“Uh huh. Mummy loved Yule. Every year she would decorate our house and make papa sing muggle carols even though he hates them. I think he’s especially sad because of that.”

Maybe it was that he had already polished off a bottle and a half of beer, but Harry felt his eyes well up with tears. He used the sleeve of his jumper to wipe them away.

“Have you talked to your papa about this?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he’s already so sad. I don’t want him to feel worse.” A quiver in the boy’s voice went straight to Harry’s heart.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Professor Mentis was obviously trying not to sound too eager.

“Oh sure, great idea, pull his dad into the conversation.” Harry muttered, though he did not change the station.

“He’ll be so cross with me.” 

“I’m sure he won’t be once he realizes how worried you are.” The Professor could talk paint off a wall with that cajoling voice.

There was a brief shuffling in the background, and a child’s voice was barely audible as he called out “Papa? There’s someone in the floo for you!”

“Hello?” The voice was pleasant and slightly aristocratic. Harry’s heart sped up a little, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Hello, this is Professor Mentis.”

“Who?”

“Professor Mentis, from the Mind Healing Hour. We’ve been talking to your son, he’s very concerned about you.”

“What - are we on the air right now?”

“Yes. Your son called our show to let us know that his Yule wish is for you to find love.”

There was some muttering that sounded like swear words. “Don’t be angry papa.” Said a little voice.

The man took several deep breaths. “I’m not, come here.” Harry imagined that he had taken the little boy into his arms. “What can I do for you, Professor...Mentis, was it?”

“Yes. Your son is worried about how sad you are. How long has it been since your wife passed?”

The man sighed. “A year and a half.”

“And have you dated any witches since.”

“Or wizards!” The child’s voice interjected. “Papa doesn’t care about gender.”

Professor Mentis laughed. “Or wizards. Have you dated anyone since?”

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“Look Professor, I don’t want to be rude-”

“-And I don’t want to be invasive.”

“Sure you don’t.” Harry and the man chorused. Harry felt a flush creep up his face although he was sitting in his living room alone.

“We - it was very difficult, losing my wife. But I think we’re doing okay, my son and I. Aren’t we doing okay?” this question was clearly directed at his son, but before the boy could answer the Professor spoke.

“I can tell you’re a good father, your son must love you very much to reach out like this, but he is obviously worried for you.”

“He doesn’t sleep at night.” The child’s voice said quietly. “I hear you walking around the flat, papa.”

The man didn’t speak for a moment, and when he did his voice was tight. “I - I thought we were doing okay. Do you think you need another parent?”

Again, the Professor interrupted. “What about you? Do you think maybe you need someone as much as your son does?”

“Yes.” Harry breathed, then ducked his head in embarrassment. What was he doing?

“Maybe.” Said the man.

“It sounds like you're losing some sleep over it. Do you think - well, I don’t know your name. Where did you say you were calling from?”

There was another pause. “Shoreditch.”

“Well, Sleepless in Shoreditch, do you think there could ever be someone else for you?”

The man took a deep breath, and Harry realized that he was holding his own in anticipation. “After the war, I didn’t think I would ever fall in love, everything seemed too fragile and easily destroyed. I didn't feel like I deserved anything but hatred. Then I met her. It was a gathering of old friends and I saw her across the room. It sounds so cliche, but I just knew. It was like-”

“Magic.” Harry whispered.

“Magic.” The man laughed. “Which is ridiculous, because I’m a wizard. Everything is magical.”

“Do you think you could ever feel that for someone else?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I could love anyone else.”

“What does love mean to you?” The Professor’s voice had taken on a soothing, encouraging tone.

“What does...Merlin. I’m glad this is an anonymous floo.” The man laughed, but it was sad and a little hollow. “Okay, just for you Professor, I’ll answer. Love means finding someone who fits. Someone who can see past my faults without turning a blind eye. A partner who wants to help raise S- my son while respecting his mother’s memory. A person who will forgive my ridiculously expensive tastes and find my eccentricities endearing. I want to look into their eyes and see home. Merlin, that was sappy.”

Harry’s eyes welled over again, and he shoved the bottle of beer away in disgust as he frantically wiped at his face.

The front door closed.

“Harry?” Anthony called out.

Feeling as though he had been caught cheating, Harry flicked his wand to turn off the wireless and wiped the last vestiges of tears from his eyes. “In here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some definitions, all yanked from Wikipedia. 
> 
> Ligligan Parul Sampernandu = an annual festival held in mid-December in the City of San Fernando in the Philippines. The festival features a competition of giant lanterns.
> 
> Gävle Goat = The Gävle Goat (Swedish: Gävlebocken) is a traditional Christmas display erected annually at Slottstorget (Castle Square) in central Gävle, Sweden. 
> 
> Jólasveinarnir = Icelandic Christmas folklore depicts mountain-dwelling characters and monsters who come to town during Christmas. 
> 
> Krampus = In Central European folklore, Krampus is a horned, anthropomorphic figure described as "half-goat, half-demon", who, during the Christmas season, punishes children who have misbehaved.


	3. Chapter 3

The letters began arriving on December 27th; Draco woke up to a parliament of owls in his living room, all clamoring for attention. He made a panicked search for his bag of owl treats while Scorpius solemnly collective each missive.

“I think the owl treats are in the sweets cupboard, papa.” Scoripus said helpfully. Draco stored his son’s detailed knowledge of said cupboard for a later conversation and after a moment of rifling, pulled the bag from behind a jar of ice mice whose number had been notably reduced.

“Where did all of these letters come from?” Draco demanded after the owls had been fed and shooed away and he was satisfied with the thoroughness of his cleaning charms.

“They’re from the radio show.” Scorpius said, reaching to open the nearest one.

“Wait!” Draco commanded in a voice so tinged with panic that he saw tears spring up in his son’s eyes.

“What is the number one rule for objects of unknown origin?” He asked, going over to rub a gentle hand across Scorpius’ back.

“Always test them first.” Scorpius sniffed, leaning back into his father’s comforting touch.

“Precisely. And why is that?”

“Because it’s better to detect a curse than try to reverse it.”

“Good lad.” Draco knew his paranoia was likely unfounded - Pansy certainly seemed to think so.

(“No one wants to kill us anymore, Draco, they just want to forget us.”)

“Watch me do the spells.” He told his son. “Follow my wand movements.”

Scorpius nodded. “Yes papa.”

“Nocere Revelare.” Draco waved his wand in a figure eight over the letters. The entire collection glowed a soft yellow. “Detecto dolo.” The glow intensified. “What does it look like when something is cursed, Scorpius?”

“It glows red papa.”

“Exactly. Do you see any red glows?”

Scorpius took a moment to examine the pile of letters, then grinned. “No!”

“Me neither.” Draco ended the spell. “You may open them. I’m going to start breakfast, do you fancy a fry-up?”

“Yes please!” Scorpius squealed, launching himself toward the pile.

They both worked contentedly for awhile, Draco cooking at the stove and Scorpius sorting through the pile of missives till the floo flared and Pansy stepped through. She took in Scorpius half-buried by letters on the floor, and then her eyes found Draco in the kitchen. “Oh good, I was worried I’d miss breakfast.”

“As if you could.” Draco laughed, summoning the tea pot. “Still not drinking milk?”

“No, I’m over that.” Pansy took off her heels and sat down cross-legged beside Scorpius. “What do you have there, Scorpo?”

“Letters, Aunt Pansy!”

“Well I’d gathered that. Who are they from?”

“People who heard papa on the wireless!” Scorpius said, already breaking the wax seal on one that looked rather thick.

Pansy looked over at Draco. “New career? Late night smut show?”

“What’s a smut show?” Scorpius asked at the same time Draco said “Pansy!”

Pansy looked from one to the other, grinning.

“Thank you for once again corrupting my innocent child.” Draco sighed. “Scorpius, a smut show is a show for adults. A...romantic show.” He cringed as Pansy laughed.

“Oh, okay.” Scorpius was already absorbed in the letter.

“So, the wireless?”

“Scorpius called into the Mind Healer Hour and told them his Christmas wish was for me to find a new love.” Draco blushed furiously. “Truth be told, I was feeling morose and went on a slightly wine filled ramble about what I think love is. Now apparently everyone and their mother has opinions on it.”

“Oooh.” Pansy eagerly grabbed a letter, breaking the seal and unfurling the parchment to read. “Dear Sleepless in Shoreditch - really, Draco? - You are the most attractive wizard I’ve ever laid ears on.”

“Gross.” Scorpius said. “I don’t want that person to be papa’s partner.”

“Agreed.” Pansy incendioed the letter.

“Mind the carpet!” Draco yelped.

“It’s from France!” Chorused Pansy and Scorpius together, the latter dissolving into giggles.

“The two of you will be my death.” Draco muttered fondly as he set the tea to steep and added the final ingredients to their breakfast.

“What does yours say, Scorp?” Pansy asked, leaning over to see the letter.

“The handwriting is too confusing.” Scorpius pouted.

“Come sit in my lap and we’ll read it together.”

Draco glanced over to see them cuddled on the floor and felt his heart warm. People could - and did- say what they wanted about Pansy Parkinson, but she was a fiercely loyal friend and excellent godmother.

“Dear Sleepless in Shoreditch” Scorpius read aloud. “I am a 25 year old witch from N- Aunt Pansy, what does that say?”

“Norway - Merlin her handwriting is terrible.”

“Where’s Norway?” Scorpius asked.

“What is that primary school teaching you?” Draco set a knife slicing tomato as he scrambled eggs. Scorpius shrugged, shaking the letter impatiently at him. Draco gave his son a quelling look, but couldn’t help smiling. “Norway is too far a-way to consider. Next.”

“This is a wizard from Islington who breeds crups.” Pansy suggested, holding up a lavishly green piece of parchment.

“Scorpius is afraid of crups.”

“Am not! I just don’t like all their tails.” Scorpius protested.

“They only have one more than regular dogs. And they get the second tail removed anyway.” Pansy pointed out, poking Scorpius in the side to make him giggle.

“It’s too many!” He said, squirming out of the way of her long, manicured nails. “And mummy said they’re mean to muggles so Isla and Peter couldn’t come over.”

“Can we put a bookmark in this conversation till after breakfast?” Draco said. “It’s nearly ready.”

“Don’t you ever miss having house elves?” Pansy asked as they sat down at the table and Draco began to fill Scorpius’ plate.

“Often. But not even Astoria could coax any back to the manor, so I’ve gotten used to doing things myself. Anyway, it doesn’t make much sense when it’s just the two of us.”

“After breakfast can we pick out papa’s new partner?” Scorpius asked around a mouthful of egg.

“Please don’t speak when you have food in your mouth.” Draco said fondly. “And anyway, this isn’t how it’s done.”

“How is it?”

“Well you...meet a person. You decide that maybe you would like to get to know them. Sometimes you ask them out for coffee or a drink-”

“Or dinner.” Pansy interjected.

“Maybe, but drinks are better for the first date. With dinner, you might decide you don’t like them halfway through the appetizers and then you’re stuck finishing. You can always follow up drinks with dinner if you want to.” Draco paused. “Unless it doesn’t work like that anymore.”

“It doesn’t.” Pansy deadpanned.

“Could you just marry Aunt Pansy?” Scorpius asked, causing the woman in question to snort into her tea.

“I love your Aunt Pansy very dearly, but not in the way you love a partner.” Draco told him.

“Aunt Pansy is never getting married.” Pansy interjected. “She’s going to become a fabulous spinster and leave all her money to her very favourite Malfoy and her kneazle, Bitsy.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I can’t wait to be charged with taking care of that beast.”

“You are not my favourite Malfoy any longer Draco. And Scorp loves Bitsy, don’t you?”  
Scorpius nodded solemnly at her, then turned to look at Draco. “Your new partner might be in one of these letters papa. I think we should read them.”

“I concur.” Pansy said, toasting Scorpius with her cup of tea.

Draco sighed heavily and surveyed the mountain of letters in his living room, wishing he had never gone on the air in the first place.

\---

Harry couldn’t sleep - he looked over at Anthony who was snoring lightly, hair rumpled and face serene as though they hadn’t been fucking only a few minutes before. Anthony liked to call it making love, and phrase of which Harry was not particularly fond but tolerated for the sake of his fiance. Making haste was a more apt definition lately, the whole process careful and far too brief as Anthony often had to wake up in the early hours of the morning.

Harry had no such obligations, so once he was sure the other man was asleep, he padded downstairs to the living room.

What he meant to do was review the patent briefs for a shielding cloak he and George had been working on - Harry ran the more serious wing of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, focusing on protective items and teaching self-defense classes, which had become quite popular even in the absence of the dark lord. While George’s eager brilliance had dimmed slightly in the wake of Fred’s death, his inventions were still stunningly good and Harry tried very hard to be a useful co-conspirator.

No matter how many times he looked over the documentation - the trials, reviews, and backers they had accumulated over the past few months - he could not concentrate. After giving it an honest fifteen minutes of effort, Harry found himself sitting on the couch with a packet of crisps and a beer, idly flicking on the wireless.

“This is Professor Mentis and the Mind Healing Hour. Tonight we’ll be looking back on some of the year’s most beloved floos.”

A woman’s pleading voice faded in. “I don’t know what to do Professor, every time we make love and I’m close to orgasm he gets up to have a pumpkin pasty.”

Harry’s laugh drowned out the second clip, but he sobered quickly when a voice he recognised came on.

“Okay, just for you Professor, I’ll answer. Love means finding someone who fits. Someone who can see past my faults without turning a blind eye.”

Harry’s heart sped up and he sat up so fast he nearly overturned his beer. He flicked his wand to turn the dial up and sat forward listening to the man’s voice as it filtered out of his wireless.

“A partner who wants to help raise S- my son while respecting his mother’s memory. A person who will forgive my ridiculously expensive tastes and find my eccentricities endearing. I want to look into their eyes and see home.”

“But first-” Professor Mentis cut in “-a discussion on how to deal with New Year stress.”

“No thanks.” Harry muttered, flicking off the wireless. His whole body felt charged and jumpy, as though he was waiting for something to happen, an excitement he hadn’t felt for someone in a long time building in his chest.

After a moment of frenzied contemplation, he found a quill and some parchment, sitting down at his cluttered desk to write.

_Dear Sleepless & Son,_

_I am not normally the kind of wizard who listens to WWN’s floo-in mind healing show, but I happened to catch your episode on Christmas Eve. After hearing your story, I couldn’t help but feel compelled to write._

Harry stopped and ran a hand through his hair. Was he losing his mind? What kind of person wrote a - a love letter to a man they heard on the wireless?

_I know what it is like to lose people. I too lived through the war and came out of it wondering where love fit into a world like ours. Hearing you describe it so succinctly on the radio has made me lose my mind, a bit, and here we are._

_Who am I? Well, I’ve spent a large part of my life trying to figure that out. I don’t want to publish my name and give too much away, but let me tell you some facts:_

  * _I am not ashamed to say I am a good seeker and think Viktor Krum is one of the best Quidditch players of all time, though I am a Harpies man through and through._
  * _I make excellent brownies._
  * _I’m an uncle/godfather to several loud and wonderful children and I couldn’t be happier about it._
  * _I was in Gryffindor at school, but don’t hold it against me._
  * _I like men with obnoxiously expensive tastes and endearing eccentricities._



_I know it is likely a long shot, but I’ve been through too much not to believe in fate a little. If anything I’ve said captures your interest, perhaps we could meet? Do you know the Pax Garden in Hogsmeade? What if we met there during the annual Celebration of Peace on April 1st, just before the fireworks? Nice and public in case either of us turns out to be someone the other would rather not meet._

_Let me know._

_Yours,_

_H_

Harry threw down the quill and re-read his letter. Then he got up and strode toward the fire, throwing a pinch of floo into the flames.

“The Nook.” He said, stepping into the fireplace.

Luckily, Ron was in the living room having a beer on the sofa, though he did startle and grab his wand as Harry stepped through the fireplace.

“It’s nearly eleven!” He exclaimed. “Uninvited to boot. Hermone and I could have been, you know-”

“Not with two young children we aren’t.” Hermione said, coming in from the kitchen with a steaming mug of tea. “Fancy something to drink, Harry? I've just made a pot of chamomile.”

“Thanks.” Harry sat down heavily on the sofa.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked as she rejoined them carrying a second mug which she handed to Harry before sitting on the arm of the couch behind Ron.

He hesitated - now that he’d had a moment to think about it, this whole plan seemed just short of absurd. Still, he knew from experience that after having seen the wild look on his face as he tumbled into the living room, neither of his friends would settle for an excuse.

“A couple of weeks ago, I was listening to the wireless.” He began, launching into the whole sordid tale for the only two people he could trust with the information. By the time he had finished, Hermione was on the dregs at the bottom of her cup and Ron was looking perplexed.

“So you’re saying you heard this bloke on the radio. Talking about his dead wife. And now you’re...in love with him?”

“Not in love!” Harry said quickly. “Confused by. His voice was so comforting and...honestly the way he spoke about love was a revelation. I don’t know if I feel that way, when I’m with Anthony.” He grimaced at his own words. “Merlin, I’m terrible.”

“Maybe you’re just scared.” Hermione suggested. “This is a big step, getting engaged to Tony and meeting his family. You’ve never had the luxury of planning for the future, but now that the war is over there are endless possibilities - do you think maybe you’re a bit unsure about what to do?”

Harry sighed and grabbed Ron's beer, taking a heavy gulp. “Anthony is a good man. I’m going to marry him, I just need to get this out of my system. Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

“You are.” Ron says, taking the bottle back from him. “You are losing your mind.”

“Destiny has ruled so much of my life, I can’t help but wonder - what if this wizard is meant to be my partner? What if I never meet him and he’s supposed to be in my life?” He took a shaky breath. “You know Anthony doesn’t want kids? Ever?”

Hermione’s frown softened. “That’s called incompatibility, Harry. Do you think this is actually about how Tony doesn’t want children?”

“No. Maybe.” Harry reached for the beer again, and Ron passed it back to him. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad. I love being an uncle and godfather, getting ugly kid art, and I don’t even mind changing diapers. I want to read someone to sleep every night and cook them breakfast on Sundays and watch them grow up. The fact that Anthony doesn’t...I don’t know what to do about that.”

“And then you hear a father on the wireless talking about his son, and you feel a connection to him because that’s what you’ve always wanted.”

Harry shrugged. “I guess so.”

Hermione put her mug down on the coffee table and came to sit beside him, encircling his shoulders with her arms. “I think you need to talk with Tony about this. It’s not something you can go into a marriage without discussing properly. Even Ron and I had to have it out before we got married because there is no way in hell I’m giving birth seven times.”

Harry looked at the letter in his hand, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket across the room so he could turn into the hug. “Thanks Mione.” He said against her shoulder. “I think you’re right, I need to talk to Anthony.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we begin to diverge slightly from the original movie, if only because I got a bit carried away with writing. It comes back to the plot soon.

Draco and Blaise always threw a New Years party, a tradition spawned during their fifth year at Hogwarts, though it had come a long way from covert bottles of firewhiskey in their dorm room. This year was shaping up to be one of the best, with Draco hosting at his new home and the guest list slightly more intimate than other years. 

Draco had invited Hermione and assumed that by giving her a +1 on the invitation he was effectively inviting Wealsey and Potter as well, though he doubted very much that the latter would attend. His assumption and subsequent lack of preparation made it all the more surprising when the man in question walked through Draco’s front door amidst a small crowd of guests.

Draco felt blindsided. In the years since he had seen Harry Potter the man had changed in ways that only accentuated Draco's attraction to him. He still had his trademark green eyes and messy hair (though it appeared to have been somewhat tamed for the occasion) but these days he was sporting a close-cropped beard and seemed to have learned how to dress himself, kitted out in deep green robes over a black button-up and slacks, a sprig of holly pinned to his lapel. The scar stood out on his forehead, a white fork of lightning that disrupted his light brown skin and part of one eyebrow. His smile was easy and bright, his stride confident as he walked into the room at the back of the group, catching Hermione when she tripped over the edge of the rug so that her stumble was barely noticeable. 

Draco often prided himself on being composed; although he had softened since becoming a father, he was still adept at navigating the social and business worlds with a careful distance. But something rose up inside his chest, a squirming teenage crush he had been sure was gone forever. The feeling crashed over him as the trio made their way forward, Hermione’s hands outstretched to envelope his in a warm squeeze.

“Thank you for inviting us. The place looks lovely.” she said, squeezing again before she let go.

“Thank you for coming.” Draco said, only just managing to keep his eyes from floating to Potter, who stood off to the side.

“When Hermione said you two were having coffee I was a bit surprised.” Weasley interjected, and Draco’s gaze swung to him - he had finally grown into his body, broad shouldered and stocky, his freckled face bearing a stronger jaw than he’d had in his youth. Draco could even admit - secretly, in a place he would never, ever reveal to another living soul - that Weasley might have gotten handsome.

“Not as surprised as we were.” Draco kept his tone neutral, friendly. He had never liked Weasley and hadn’t been particularly interested in befriending him while at Hogwarts. That being said, the man must have hidden depths if he was married to Hermione, so Draco was willing to amend his previous judgement. His younger self would never have permitted this re-evaluation, but since Astoria’s death he had begun to allow himself all kinds of liberties and the perspective offered by fatherhood had shifted his opinions considerably. 

“Is Scorpius here tonight?” Weasley asked.

Draco nodded. “Asleep upstairs with plenty of soundproofing and monitoring charms. Rose seems to have gotten the idea into his head that he should stay up till midnight, but thankfully he was asleep by 8pm.”

Weasley chuckled at this. “Rosie was still wide awake when we left her with mum. Poor thing has never gone up against Grandma Wealsey about bedtime before, won’t know what hit her.”

“She mentions Scorpius all the time.” Potter interjected, and at last Draco allowed himself to meet Potter’s eyes. He was surprised to see that the other man’s face was friendly, relaxed. Gone was the boy who ranged from bristled to outright hostile in Draco’s presence, though that did nothing to quiet Draco’s longing to rib him a little, if only so that Potter would pay attention to him. Draco pushed that desire down, reminding himself that tactic was best left in his school days.

“Scorpius is very fond of Rose.” He agreed, trying to keep his voice level even as the realization broke over him that his equilibrium was rapidly diminishing under Potter’s gaze.

\---

There was something about Malfoy that Harry couldn’t quite figure out, an oddly welcoming quality that had not been present in his youth. Harry had to admit that Malfoy was attractive, had always been even through the veneer of schoolboy rivalry, but this adult version was interesting. Maybe it was his voice, which seemed somehow familiar - but of course it was, he’d heard Malfoy speak countless times. Still, there was something. 

Harry watched Malfoy’s interactions with Hermione and Ron carefully for any hint of malice or ulterior motive, but found none. Instead, there were only hints of the snotty boy Harry had known, interspersed with some very real glimpses of the man he had become. 

Harry had often quietly wondered about Malfoy over the past twelve years - he seemed to have disappeared after the hearings, at which Harry had spoken in his defense. Harry knew that the Malfoy parents had fled the country upon Lucius’ release from Azkaban (far too early, in Harry’s opinion). The only suggestion of Malfoy’s continued survival were the letters Harry, Ron, and Hermione had received on the third anniversary of the battle. In them Malfoy had apologised for years of bullying and clarified Harry’s suspicions that his actions had been born of a desperate need to survive, not an actual desire for a blood purity war. That the four of them were now standing in the same room, dressed in their finest and about to celebrate together, was such an astounding shift in tone that Harry almost couldn’t believe his own eyes.

So, letting curiosity get the better of him and wanting Malfoy’s attention for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, Harry jumped into the conversation. “She mentions Scorpius all the time.”

Their eyes met briefly as Malfoy responded and well, that was something else. A feeling he hadn’t known existed stood suddenly upright and demanded attention; Harry was embarrassed to admit he felt slightly weak in the knees from only the brief eye contact. He was so busy trying to convince himself otherwise that it took Harry a moment to realize what Malfoy had said.

“Who would have thought, a Weasley-Granger and a Malfoy being such good friends?” Harry joked once he had caught up to the conversation. “Rosie definitely isn’t a Slytherin, I wonder if Scorpius will be in Gryffindor?”

Malfoy smiled slightly. “More likely Hufflepuff, if I’m being honest. I blame Astoria, her father was one.”

Ron grinned. “A Malfoy Hufflepuff? That’s something I can’t wait to see.”

“Scorpius is one of the sweetest children I’ve met.” Hermione said, elbowing Ron. “Honestly not a mean bone in his body.”

“Another trait he inherited from his mother, as you might have guessed. I-” Draco was cut off by the sound of his name being called. “-must see what Blaise wants. If you’ll excuse me?”

Harry didn’t consciously watch Malfoy leave, but when he turned back to his friends Hermione had a curious look on her face.

“What?” He demanded when she smirked at him.

“Oh nothing.” Hermione said, clearly enjoying herself. “Only the last time I watched you so blatantly check out a man you ended up engaged to him three months later.”

Harry flushed. “Seeing as I am still engaged to that man, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on Harry, you can find other men attractive.” Hermione said teasingly.

“Let’s go find the food table.” As the father of two and uncle of plenty more, Ron was now adept at sensing and interrupting an impending argument. He put an arm around Hermione’s waist, the other around Harry’s shoulders, and steered them toward a table laden with all manner of delectable-looking treats. 

The three of them filled plates and collected goblets of wine, then chose an unoccupied table from which they had a suitable view of the room. If Ron or Hermione noticed that Harry’s eyes followed the movements of a certain blonde head, neither commented on it. They chatted and ate till Hermione spotted a colleague from the ministry and practically dragged Ron over to meet him. Realizing he was now alone and thus approachable (it didn’t happen as often now, but he didn’t want to take any chances) Harry decided it was time he went looking for the loo.

His quest brought him to the second floor. In his defense, the toilet on the first had been occupied by a very amorous couple, and so he had slipped upstairs to see if there was another on offer. Not technically proper guest behaviour, but his bladder dictated action. Low and behold, there was one on the upper landing across from two closed doors.

Harry was straightening the neck of his robes as he exited, heading toward the stairs when a smaller blonde head than the one he had been tracking poked out one of the doors.

Harry stopped in his tracks; the boy looked so like Malfoy he felt as though he had fallen back in time. But then a sweet smile spread across the child’s pale face, and his mother’s genetic influence became suddenly apparent.

“Hi.” Scorpius said quietly.

“Hello.” Harry replied. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

Scorpius nodded. 

“Bad dream?” Harry asked, leaning against the wall beside him.

“Nooo...I promised my friend Rosie I’d stay awake till midnight.”

“I know for a fact that Rosie won’t be staying up till midnight.” Harry told him.

“How do you know that?” The child’s question was inquisitive, not defensive as Harry would have suspected.

“Because I’m Rosie’s uncle. She’s with her grandma and let me tell you, Grandma Weasley does not allow anyone to stay up past bedtime.”

“Even adults?” Scorpius asked, and giggled quietly at Harry’s solemn nod. “What’s your name? Rosie said she has lots of uncles and aunties.”

“Harry. And you must be Scorpius?” 

The boy nodded. “I only have two aunties, though, and no uncles.”

“Right.” Harry tried to strain his memory for the name of the Greengrass sister who had been in his year at Hogwarts. “That would be Daphne and - who is your other Aunt?”

“Aunt Pansy.” The serious little face lit up. “Did you go to school with my aunts and papa?”

“Yes, I was in the same year. But I was a Gryffindor.” He expected the small Malfoy to make a face or comment at that, but the child only nodded. “And I didn’t know your papa very well back then.”

“But you’re friends now?” Scorpius asked, sitting down cross-legged on the floor to lean against the open door, though Harry noticed he was careful not to set even a toe outside the frame - Malfoy’s wards were probably only activated if someone entered or left the room. Harry slid down the wall till he was sitting against it, and turned to face the child.

“To be honest I don’t know him very well.” Harry admitted.

“He’s really good at making breakfast” Scorpius said “but he doesn’t like jam very much.”

“That’s a shame, I love jam.”

“Me too!” Scorpius cried, grining. “But Papa says it’s too sticky - he keeps some in the cupboard for me, though. He’s nice like that. Mummy liked jam too, her favourite was strawberry.”

“Strawberry is my favourite.” Harry affirmed. 

“Mine too!” Scorpius looked up at Harry as though assessing him. “Are you married?”

“Nope.” Harry debated mentioning Anthony, but something held him back. 

“Why not?” Scorpius let out a large yawn

“I haven’t found the time.”

“Are you really busy? Rosie said you were famous.”

“I don’t know about famous, these days. But yes, I’m very busy with work.”

“Papa says you’re not doing it properly if you don’t have time for the people you love. Couldn’t you find someone to love?”

Harry laughed. “I just hadn’t met the right wizard, I guess.”

“Oh! Do you not care the gender of your partner?” Scorpius asked, suddenly very alert.

“Where did you learn that phrase?” Harry asked, though he was quite sure Draco was its source.

“From Papa! He’s a wizard who-” Before Scorpius could continue his train of thought on the matter, the man in question appeared. He stopped short before them, his gaze travelling between Harry and Scorpius.

“Potter.” He said after a moment, then seemed to shake himself. “What are you doing out of bed, Scorpius?”

“Talking to Harry.” Scorpius shrugged a pyjama-clad shoulder. “Did you know he wasn’t married?”

“I was aware, yes. I meant, why are you out of bed? You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I promised Rosie that I’d stay up late! But Harry’s her uncle and he says her grandma won’t let her stay up till midnight either.”

Draco sighed and crossed the distance between him and his son, scooping the child up. “Remember our discussion? You can stay up till midnight when you are ten.”

“That’s too far away!” Scorpius whined through a large yawn. “How old were you when you got to stay up till midnight, Harry?”

Surprised at being drawn back into the conversation, Harry scrambled for an answer. “I never stayed up till midnight on New Years as a child.” He didn’t think explaining that he had frequently stayed up till midnight doing homework (or indeed, spying on Scorpius’ own father) would have the desired effect.

“See? Pot- Harry never stayed up till midnight when he was your age. Now, let’s get you back to bed.” Malfoy said, his voice far kinder than Harry could have imagined

Harry watched as Malfoy took his soon back to bed and tucked him in - he tried not to be too much of a voyeur, but the soft expression on the other man’s face, the deft way he settled the blankets around Scorpius’ shoulders, the low murmurs between the two of them, all clenched at Harry. How could Anthony not want to be a father?

Malfoy seemed surprised to find Harry waiting for him outside Scorpius’ room. 

“Trouble finding your way, Potter?”

“I thought maybe you’d like company for the walk back.” Harry lied, then was surprised to discover that it was not in fact a lie at all.

“How long did Scorpius keep you talking?” Malfoy asked, not making any move to return to the party, so Harry leaned back against the wall.

“Fifteen minutes? I came upstairs to find the loo - I wasn’t snooping, it’s just a very vocal couple was occupying yours downstairs.”

“Hermione and Weasley?” Malfoy guessed.

“What? No!” Harry grimaced. “I didn’t see who it was, but they certainly seemed to be getting along.”

“Well, I look forward to explaining that to the cleaning service tomorrow.”

“No house elves?” 

Malfoy shook his head. “Not since the war, in fact, though I must say Hermione’s insistence that they be paid has made me reconsider from time to time. There’s a Wizarding cleaners who come in during parties.”

“I expected you would still be at the Manor.” Harry said without thinking.

“No, not since Astoria died.” Malfoy hesitated. “Too many bad memories there. And painful good ones.” 

Harry nodded. “I felt the same way about Grimmauld after Sirius died, it took me a long time to be able to live there again.”

“And now?” Malfoy asked.

“Now it feels different. I can still sense him there, but I like how it evokes his memory. Him and Remus were the last close ties I had to my parents, so living in the house where Sirius grew up hurt at first, but now it’s a comforting channel to my family.”

Malfoy nodded. “I hope some day the Manor will be that, if not for me then for my son.”

With a glance to the door, Harry lowered his voice. “Did you always know you wanted to be a dad?”

\---

Draco contemplated how to answer - truthfully or sarcastically. The low lighting and lack of audience made him choose the former. “Yes, but I was afraid I would become my father- he loved me, you understand, but he loved power more. I wasn’t sure I could be better. Astoria knew she wanted to be a mum, and I realized that together we had a better chance of doing things properly. Once I felt safe in that knowledge I could let myself want children again.” He studied Harry for a moment. “Who is it that doesn’t want to be a father - you, or your fiance?”

Harry’s surprised expression was a secret delight to Draco. “It’s Anthony - I’ve always known I wanted them.”

“Are you hoping to change his mind?” Draco asked

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m looking for reasons to run, Hermione says I should talk to him but there’s something miss-” Harry stopped, embarrassed. “I’m talking too much about this.”

“It’s alright. Why else talk to your school rival, if not for catharsis?”

“I don’t think this is what people mean when they say to confront your childhood bullies.”

“I think we’re old enough to decide for ourselves.” Draco leaned forward, surprised to find himself flirting. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Harry grinned, running a hand through his hair in a way that utterly destroyed its last vestiges of neatness. Draco felt heat creep up his neck and settle in his cheeks and opened his mouth to say something, anything, to get Harry to take a step closer.

Of course Pansy picked that exact moment to appear.

“Draco, there you are! I was beginning to think you’d taken my advice and actually found someone to shag tonight.” 

Harry’s grin widened as Pansy approached, a drink in one hand and the other trailing her fur wrap. “Oh look, it’s Harry Potter.” She sneered playfully, accidentally throwing her wrap in Harry’s face as she made a sweeping curtsy in his direction. “The boy who lived to grace us with his presence.”

“Hello Pansy.” Harry said, grabbing the fur as it fell. “It’s lovely to see you.”

Pansy scrutinised them through dark lashes as she took a sip of her drink. “What are the two of you doing?”

“Not drinking to excess.” Draco said.

“How boring.” Pansy emptied the glass, and a second later it had refilled itself. 

“I thought I banned that enchanted glass from my house?” Draco attempted to take it from her but Pansy only giggled, backing away from him and into Harry who grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

“Hands off Potter.” Pansy said, thought Draco noticed she wasn’t trying very hard to get away. “Draco would be most upset if you put the moves on me.”

“He’s practically married, Pans.” Draco said quickly, noting that Harry looked particularly amused by her comment. “To Anthony Goldstein.”

Pansy whirled to face Harry. “You’re gay? I thought you and Weasley the youngest were disgustingly in love last time I saw you?”

“Well, I do love Ginny, but we discovered it was more platonic than romantic. Now she’s married to Luna and I’m-”

“Lovegood?!”

“The one and only - I thought it was pretty common knowledge by now.”

Pansy sniffed disdainfully and sipped her drink. “I went to Italy after the war - my mum’s family, the Arcuris, all live in the south of the country. I’ve only been back here a few years and I hardly have time for gossip.”

Draco knew this to be a lie, but decided not to comment - Pansy had plenty of things she could reveal about him in retaliation and he was not about to risk it in her current state.

“Fair enough.” Harry glanced at Draco and began to say something just as a loud chime sounded from downstairs.

“It can’t be almost midnight!” Draco cried, gesturing for Harry and Pansy to follow as he made his way back to the party.

Sure enough, the New Year spell had been activated and a giant, luminous clock was floating over the mantlepiece counting down the last minute of the year.

Harry and Pansy were slower to rejoin the party, with the latter hanging off Harry’s arm and trying to walk steadily in her tall heels. Draco watched them from where he stood beside Blaise, as waitstaff wove through the crowd handing out bubbling glasses of champagne to all present. While the clock counted down Pansy leaned toward Harry and said something quietly in his ear - Harry laughed and shook his head.

Blaise nudged Draco gently, returning his focus to the giant clock overhead. 3….2…..1

A chorus of cheers rang out and then nearly everyone was kissing - some chaste and some decidedly not. Blaise kissed Daphne, Hermione and Weasley were wrapped in a disturbingly passionate embrace, and Draco’s gaze fell yet again on Harry. He watched in amazement as the man bent down to place a friendly kiss on Pansy’s cheek before glancing up to meet Draco’s eyes. With a smile, he raised his champagne glass in a silent toast before downing its contents.

\---

Draco wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about Harry - Scorpius was preoccupied with their brief encounter well into the evening of the next day, talking incessantly about the man.

“He likes jam, Papa. Strawberry jam just like mummy.” Scoripus announced for what had to be the fourth time that hour as Draco spooned peas onto his plate.

“I recall, you’ve mentioned that several times.” The problem was that Draco didn’t mind hearing it; he kept replaying his own brief conversation with Harry. They hadn’t had a chance to speak again at the party - Harry had spent a surprisingly long amount of time talking to Pansy before Weasley and a very tipsy Hermione appeared at his elbow. The three of them had departed with a quick thank you to Draco, and though their parting handshake had left Draco feeling quite a lot more inebriated than he had any right to be considering his low alcohol intake, it had not been meaningful enough to be suggestive. Add that to undeniable factor of Anthony Goldstein and Draco felt altogether far more foolish than he would have liked, and about as helpless to stifle his crush as he had been in school.

“He’s a Gryffindor but you don’t mind, do you papa? You don’t hate Gryffindors anymore right?”

Draco sighed. “No Scorpius, I never hated them, but things were complicated by a lot more than inter-house rivalries when I went to Hogwarts.”

“Because of the war?” 

Draco groaned inwardly - five pm on the first day of the new year was not his ideal setting for this conversation. Scorpius knew a very edited version of the story, one designed to educate without any of the more disturbing details. The full tale would come when he was old enough to understand it and the role his father had played.

“Yes, because of the war. Slytherin house was seen as evil for a very long time because some bad wizards came from the house. And a lot of students, including Slytherins themselves, believed that being in the house automatically made people bad. A lot of Slytherins also had parents who didn’t think that muggle born witches and wizards were equal to those from magical families.”

“But Harry didn’t think that?”

“No.”

“Did you papa?” Scorpius had danced around the issue before, but this was the first time had had asked the question directly.

“Yes.” Draco said after a moment. “Your grandfather raised me to believe that muggle borns were not as good as those from long magical lines. He taught me that being pureblood - a term that is considered very rude these days - meant we were superior wizards.”

Scorpius’ eyes had gone wide. “Do you still hate them?”

“No, I learned a long time ago that the things my father taught me were untrue and hurtful. But I did some unkind things before I figured it out.”

“To Harry?”

“Some of them to Harry, yes. We got into a lot of fights as boys.” Draco scrutinized his son’s plate. “Eat up Scorpius, you’ve barely touched your roast.”

Scorpius tucked in obediently, but had only taken a couple of mouthfuls when he snuck a glance over at Draco again. “I think Harry would make a good partner.”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Scorpius. Harry has a partner already.”

The boy frowned at his plate, but didn’t say anything. Draco let him pout for a moment, then mentioned his upcoming playdate with Rosie, which launched Scorpius into a lengthy monologue about the imaginary world they had created, bringing the count of Malfoys who couldn’t stop thinking about Harry Potter down to one.


	5. Chapter 5

Antony’s best friend, Mandy Brocklehurst, invited Harry and Anthony for tea in the first week of the New Year. Privately, Harry found Mandy rather dull - she and Anthony had both graduated Hogwarts to attend the same school of law, graduated top of that class, and taken up positions at the ministry. While Anthony took on cases for those who could not afford regular lawyer fees and worked tirelessly to rewrite blood purity hate crime legislation, Mandy had quit public defense after a year to start her own firm. Now she made a hefty paycheque helping rich widows and petulant second sons sue the estates of the deceased, among other endeavors. Mandy kept a flat in the Phoenix District that was chic but sterile, and Harry often found himself wishing for a misplaced slipper or dog-eared book, anything to indicate actual life 

They ate posh sandwiches and drank tea from a matching set of jade cups while Mandy droned on about her current case and Harry tried to feign interest. He wished Anthony had more interesting friends - if only they were in the warm chaos of Ron and Hermione’s home instead, drinking tea from the assortment of oddly shaped mugs that Luna hand made and gifted them all each Christmas till everyone had a haphazard collection. (This year Harry’s was bright yellow and the handle was a lion’s tale. It went well with the one shaped like a lion’s head from four years previous.)

Harry was in the middle of telling Mandy about their summer plans - namely that Teddy would be spending a large portion of his vacation at Grimmauld place - when he glanced over to see a frown on Anthony’s face, though it was quickly replaced with a gentle smile when he met Harry’s eyes. It was only after they had left Mandy’s and were strolling through Dumbledore Meadows (streets and public places in the Phoenix District were almost all named after those who had fallen during the first and second wars, though Harry kept well away from Potter Square) that Anthony brought his concerns to light.

“You didn’t tell me Teddy would be staying with us.” He began as they passed an ice rink packed full of children. 

“Didn’t I?” Harry tried to recall whether or not this was true.

“No.” Anthony said quietly. “I would have thought you might ask me if I wanted a child around for a month during the summer, given that we practically live together.” 

“Teddy isn’t really a child.” Harry said. “He’s almost thirteen. He’ll spend half his time at the Burrow with Victoire anyway. And you know Andy has been sick, she can’t look after him full time anymore. In fact, I’ve been thinking - and I wanted to _talk to you_ about it. I’d like to ask them to move in with us.”

They were crossing a little stone bridge and Anthony stopped, turning to face Harry full on. “Live with us?”

“Yeah. Grimmauld is huge and we have all those extra rooms. Andy can’t manage her house anymore, or keep up with Teddy most days.”

“Oh Harry.” Anthony took his hand and lead him off the bridge, over to a snow covered bench which he cleared with a flick of his wand. A second flick cast a warming charm as he pulled Harry down beside him. “Listen. I love you, I truly do. And I care deeply for Teddy and Andromeda. But I meant what I said about not being a parent. You agreed with me, at the time. Teddy might not be a baby, but he’ll still required care. He’ll still need parenting.”

“Yeah, but not as much.” Harry felt a flutter of fear in his chest and he began to grasp at anything he could find to stop their conversation from going in this direction. “And we’ll sign him up for Quidditch camp in the summer. He’ll be gone most of the year. You knew this might be a thing, I’m his godfather afterall.”

Anthony squeezed his hand. “This is about more than that, Harry. You adore children, I’ve seen you with Rosie and Hugo, with Teddy - hell, with babies we run into doing the weekly shopping. You want to be a parent. But I don’t, I never have. I love you enough to know that it’s an unkindness to ask that you give up your dream. Just as, I hope, you love me enough to feel the same.”

Harry looked down at their hands, at the rings on their fingers that were supposed to signify a promise of everlasting union, and felt a heavy sadness descend on him. He nodded. Anthony put a hand out and cupped the side of Harry’s head, one thumb stroking his cheek. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I don’t think I realized how different our two futures looked until we really started to socialize with your extended family and I realized that you enjoy the chaos of a house full of children. I don’t. I think this will be best for us both, you’d only resent me if we married and stayed childless. And I can’t get in the way of doing a good deed either, I think moving Andy and Teddy into Grimmauld is a lovely, kind idea. You’re a wonderful man, and once some time has passed, I hope we can truly be friends.”

Harry met Anthony’s eyes, and was surprised to see tears that mirrored his own threatening to well over. He raised a hand to cover the one that Anthony had against his cheek. 

“Me too.” 

\---

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice rang through Grimmauld Place like a bell, reaching Harry where he sat in the library, slumped against the unyielding back of his least favourite chair because he didn’t feel he deserved the comfortable one. He didn’t move to let her know his location - Hermione was far too skilled a witch to need directions.

Sure enough, she appeared in the doorway seconds later, an assortment of dishes following behind her like ducklings.

“Ah, Molly knows does she?” He asked as the dishes bumped against Hermione’s back.

“Budge off.” She said, pushing a particularly persistent casserole away from where it had been nudging her shoulder. “Who else would have cooked you this feast? Honestly, it was all I could do to convince her not to come over here. She means well but-”

“She would be appalled by the state of things.” Harry finished. Ever since Kreature’s death the upkeep of Grimmauld Place had been Harry’s responsibility. He wasn’t a terrible housekeeper or cook, but the recent breakup had not left him feeling particularly capable of doing either and it was apparent in the mound of take out containers, lager bottles, and discarded clothing that covered the room.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked as she began to tidy with her wand, sending dishes to the kitchen and takeout containers to the bin. A dirty sock tugged itself out from under Harry’s left leg and whizzed out into the hall, presumably toward the laundry.

“In the end we both wanted different things. I - might have done that thing where I decide something without taking into account how it will affect someone else.”

“I’m sorry to say, but that is one of your faults.” Hermione frowned as she realized that  
Molly’s army of food was still waiting for instruction. “Honestly - to the fridge with all of you.” She said, waving her wand in irritation. Most of the dishes obeyed, but a plate stacked high with breakfast food remained, inching slowly toward Harry, who reached out to take it when it got close enough.

“Do you want some?” He asked, eyeing the mountain of eggs and bangers, toast (with strawberry jam) potatoes, and bacon.

Hermione shook her head. “No, I’ve eaten - Ron tried his hand at muffins last night and they’re not bad. I brought some for you as well, but they’re already in the kitchen.” She threw the plate in front of Harry a dark look as though reminding it that her breakfast foods listened to instructions.

“Are you heading to work then?” Harry wordlessly summoned a fork from the kitchen and caught it deftly as it flew toward him.

“I took the morning off to check in on you.” She finally sat down in the chair opposite him, though her wand movements had not ceased and the room was tidying itself around them. From the kitchen Harry could hear the clink of dishes being washed.

“I appreciate it, but I’m fine.” He lied. 

Hermione gave him a sarcastic look. “Oh truly? Because you’re sitting in your least favourite chair, Harry, and I can see you’ve been drinking off-brand lager. I’ve been with you through enough breakups to know when you’re not doing fine and are, in fact, punishing yourself.”

It was both endearing and slightly irritating that Hermione knew him so well. Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I just worry that somehow I am fundamentally flawed. That there’s a reason none of my relationships work out. Anthony is perfect and I couldn’t even give up one thing to make him stay.”

“Children?” Hermione asked tentatively, her wand movements ceasing as she studied him.

Harry nodded. “I told him I wanted to move Teddy and Andromeda into Grimmauld and Anthony said he didn’t want to be a parent. And that he didn’t want to stop me from doing it either.”

“I know it hurts, Harry, but it doesn’t mean you’re flawed. The two of you were incompatible, which happens sometimes, even when two people love each other. Do you really see yourself giving up on having a family? Not resenting Tony for holding you back from it?”

Harry didn’t even have to consider it. “No.”

“And it wouldn’t be fair to Tony, having to change the way he saw his life going, would it?”

“No, but...isn’t love supposed to overcome differences? Look at you and Ron.”

Hermione smiled kindly at him. “Sure, Ron and I have worked through disagreements, but in the end we both wanted the same things fundamental things. Even if I needed a bit of planning and discussion before we had children, I wasn’t closed to the idea. Though I did tell Ron that if he wants a third he will have to carry it himself. I don’t know how Molly did it six times.”

Harry laughed at the idea, though privately he thought it likely wasn’t as much of a deterrent to Ron as Hermione hoped - he had been angling for a third child “to round things out” since Hugo’s fifth month.

“I do think that inviting Andromeda and Teddy to move in with you is a great idea, though. I know she’s worried about keeping up with him and that old house of hers is getting to be too much work. I think you should ask her sooner rather than later.”

Harry did just that, apparating round to Andromeda’s tidy little home the next day. She agreed much more readily than anticipated, and as his eyes traveled over the house Harry could see why. It wasn’t untidy- Andromeda paid a house elf for cleaning and meal preparation - but it was obvious that during Teddy’s absence she stayed mostly in her chair beside the fire, reading through the stacks of books that rose up all around her like little hills. She was lonely, he could tell. Though she was only just pushing sixty there was a certain frailty to her that belied her lengthy battle with illness - a weak heart, the healers said. Magic could do many things, but physiology was undeniable; in the muggle world she would likely have been taken by a heart attack, but she was fortunate enough to be a witch. What the condition meant was that Andromeda had very small reserves of energy and even those varied from day to day. Though Harry and the Weasleys visited often, he knew that since her diagnosis Andy had stopped going to volunteer at the various organizations she loved, finding herself far too exhausted afterward. No matter how much they cared about each other, Andy was often still too proud to admit she needed help.

It had taken a while for them to become close. Andromeda had, at first, mistrusted the boy she knew only from his brief appearance at her house during his final escape from Privet Drive. Given that upon their first meeting Harry had pulled his wand on her, he figured it was only fair she had reservations.

Harry had waited almost a month to see Teddy, so involved in the post-war clean up that he barely ate or slept. When he had finally arrived on Andromeda’s doorstep, their conversation had been clumsy and he was sure she hated him. Still, Harry persevered, showing up once a week to see Teddy no matter what was happening in his life. Slowly Andromeda’s hesitation changed to respect and then friendliness - she was in need of companionship as much as her grandson- the sudden empty space where the rest of her family had been was overwhelming at the best of times. She and Harry began to talk more, he would stay for tea after Teddy had been put down to nap or bring her a parcel of the fancy chocolate biscuits she favoured, a new book Hermione had recommended. Andromeda was smart and quick witted, and it didn’t take long for Harry to stop seeing Bellatrix in her features and start seeing Andy, who made a strong cuppa and told the most wicked stories about her days at Hogwarts: first girl on the Slytherin quidditch team in over a century, never quite making prefect due to her inability to keep her mouth shut when faced with something she did not like, quick with a hex if the situation called for one. The Weasleys began to go with Harry on some of his visits, a slow trickle of guests bringing food and baby clothes, toys and entertainment. Together they had created a patchwork family - they looked slightly odd from the outside but that didn’t matter to any of them.

In the twelve years since their first hesitant conversations Andromeda had become the aunt Harry wished Petunia could have been, and his occasional care of Teddy had made Harry realize that whatever else he did in life, he wanted to take care of children. Moving the pair of them in Grimmauld seemed like a good start. 

\---

It was only by sheer luck (or perhaps fate) that Harry’s crumpled up letter did not get thrown out or indeed, vanished - wizard homes rarely had rubbish bins because any refuse was swiftly magicked out of sight. Its survival came down to two factors: 1. As both Hermione and Harry had been raised by Muggles, the act of throwing out rubbish was ingrained in them from a young age, so Hermione kept a wastebasket and Harry’s first instinct was to deposit his crumpled letter there, rather than use magic to dismiss it. 2. the fact that Harry had been a Seeker, not a Chaser, and thus his throw toward said bin did not deposit the parchment inside. Instead, it hit the rim which redirected it and, by extension, the course of Harry’s life from that moment on.

Three days after Harry’s visit, at the exact moment (though neither could have known) when Harry and Anthony were breaking up, Hugo Granger-Weasley found the ball of parchment while crawling around on the living room rug. One year old Hugo had a taste for paper of all kinds, so he picked it up and waved it around at his father, excitedly yelling “Da! Da! Da!” until Ron came to see what his son had discovered.

Amused, Ron re-read the letter and then pulled out his wand to vanish it, but something stopped him. He skimmed the page again, remembering the desperation in Harry’s voice and how sad his best friend had seemed talking about a childless future. Ron liked Anthony just fine, but he had always felt a bit of standoffishness from the man whenever he was around Rosie and Hugo; Anthony was kind and polite, but it was clear he didn’t relish their interactions the way Harry did. Ron looked over at Hugo, who was chewing on the corner of his own jumper, at his wide brown eyes and dark, reddish curls. Ron remembered finding out he was going to be a father. He remembered holding both his children for the first time. Then he remembered the look on Harry’s face when _he_ had held them for the first time.

“Fancy taking a walk to the post office, Hugo?” He asked.

“Da!” Hugo affirmed.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco was not at home when the letter arrived - he had an investors meeting to attend with Blaise and then dinner later on and only had time to stop at home briefly. Pansy had collected Scorpius from school and was expecting to stay with him into the night; she was in the kitchen trying to work out how to use Draco’s muggle toaster when the owl arrived. She let it in and took the envelope, then scanned the kitchen for the bag of owl treats. Finding none, she proffered one of the apple slices meant for Scorpius’ after school snack. As the owl dropped peel all over the counter, Pansy turned the letter over in her hands.

“Who’s it from?” Scorpius asked from where he sat at the kitchen island, playing with a large selection of quidditch figurines (if Pansy had looked carefully, she would have seen the Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, long red plastic braid whipping out behind her as she hovered just above the cutting board, “Wingtips Weasley” emblazoned across her back in gold. But Pansy didn’t look.)

“It’s addressed to Sleepless in Shoreditch - probably another admirer of your father’s” Pansy said, working one long, deep purple nail under the wax seal so she could open it.

“Wait!” Scorpius cried, dropping the snitch he had been holding. “Papa says you have to do the spells first.”

Pansy sighed but stopped herself before the temptation to roll her eyes overtook - she had long ago promised Astoria to support Draco, and directly countering him in front of his son seemed like a bad way to keep that promise. So she did as the young boy said, reciting the words of the spell and waiting for the letter to glow gold. When it did, she neatly detached the wax seal and began to read it aloud:

“Dear Sleepless & Son.” Pansy did roll her eyes this time. “I am not normally the kind of wizard who listens to WWN’s floo-in mind healing show, but I happened to catch your episode on Christmas Eve. After hearing your story the other night, I couldn’t help but feel compelled to write.”

“That’s what they all say.” Scorpius interjected, going back to his Quidditch figurines.

Pansy laughed, though it died on her lips as she continued to read: “I know what it is like to lose people. I too lived through the war and came out of it wondering where love fit into a world like ours. Hearing you describe it so succinctly on the radio has made me lose my mind, a bit, and here we are.”

“Are you okay, Aunt Pansy?” Scorpius asked - Pansy looked over to see him watching her intently. She forced her face into a neutral expression.

“I’m fine. Do you want to hear the rest?”

Sorcipus nodded, so Pansy continued, reading through the letter before handing it to Scorpius. “He sounds better than most of the ones you’ve received.”

Scorpius clutched the letter to his chest and nodded. “I like brownies.”

Pansy laughed and reached over to ruffle his hair. “I know you do, Scorpo, but your dad can’t marry someone just because they can bake. Besides, he’s going on a date tonight isn’t he?”

“He’s what?!” Scorpius demanded.

Pansy winced - she often forgot that Draco didn’t tell Scorpius the intricacies of his personal life, preferring to remain focused on Scorpius’ wants and needs. As a result, she frequently slipped up and let details like this out without thinking.

Luckily for her, Draco stepped out of the floo at that moment. “Hello, hello.” He said, dropping his satchel on the couch in a distracted and uncharacteristic fashion before depositing a large paper bag on the counter as he sprinted for the stairs.

“Papa!” Scorpius cried, nearly falling off the stool in his effort to follow. “Wait I have questions!” But Draco was already out of sight.

“Come help me put dinner together, Scorpo, and when he returns we’ll ambush him together.” Pansy said, holding out a hand. Reluctantly, Scorpius returned to the kitchen and helped her unpack the paper bag. Much like their home, it was more spacious inside than out and they managed to pull bottles of butterbeer and a full meal from Creevy’s (the prophet called it “worth the wait in line” and “wizard comfort food”) from its depths.

By the time Draco reappeared, Pansy had set the table and placed a warming charm over the meal. She surveyed his outfit as he entered - crisp dark blue robes over black slacks and a fitted black vest and button-up. When the light hit his vest, Pansy could see that it had leaves embroidered on it in a dark green; his chin-length hair was styled attractively in a way that softened the harsher features of his face. He looked altogether too good to be going on a blind date with Daphne’s co-worker’s sister. When she said so, Draco frowned and cast a quick glance at Scorpius, who had his arms folded tightly across his chest and was glaring at his father.

“What’s the matter with you?” Draco asked, reaching up to run a hand through his own hair in frustration before he thought better of it.

“I don’t you going on a date with some lady.” Scorpius said, producing the letter from his pocket. “I want you to go meet this one.”

Draco checked the clock on the mantelpiece. “I’m going to be late.” He said, reaching over to give Scorpius a hug. The small boy moved out of the way.

“He likes the Holyhead Harpies. And he makes excellent brownies-”

“I don’t have time to discuss this letter writer, Scorpius. It’s impolite to be late.” Draco returned, his nervousness over the date and his irritation at the continuation of these blasted letters rendering his tone sharper than he meant. Scorpius’ lip quivered but he held firm.

“He wants to meet us-”

“Scorpius!” Draco sighed, marshalled his temper, and then continued “I told you, this isn’t how things are done. You don’t meet someone because they heard your voice on the radio. You meet through friends, through work. You have a mutual spark and things progress from there!” Scorpius couldn’t have known, but Draco was thinking specifically of a certain very engaged hero of the wizarding world. He had found himself wishing more than once that it was Harry waiting for him at Le Phénix rather than Esme, though he supposed the upscale restaurant was probably not to Harry’s taste.

“But Papa-”

“I’m going to be late.” Draco bent down so he was eye level with his son. “You’re the one who wanted me to start dating, right?”

Scorpius shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

“So if you want me to date you have to let me date, Scorpius. Alright?” Draco reached out to put his hand on Scoripus’ shoulder. There was a brief pause where it seemed like their disagreement might be over.

“No!” Scorpius shouted, shrugging off Draco’s hand. “No! I want you to date the person I want you to date!” He turned around and stormed upstairs - a moment later they heard the door to his room slam shut.

Draco looked helplessly at Pansy.

“Go.” She said. “He’s a child, they get upset. He’ll be over it when you get home and you’ll have a talk without any screaming. I’ll make sure he eats dinner. You’re going to be late if you don’t hurry.”

Le Phénix was about what Draco had expected - upscale French cuisine, most of the tables occupied by couples on dates. His own companion for the evening, Esme, was already seated at a cosy corner table, a glass of white wine in front of her. She smiled when she saw him cross the room and Draco smiled back - she was very pretty, a round face and large blue eyes, brown curls pinned up in a loose knot on her head, a conservative but stylish purple dress. Exactly the kind of woman his parents would have loved till they found out one of her parents was muggle-born. As Draco had long ago decided such prejudices were ugly and beneath him, he had no qualms about that aspect of Esme’s identity.

“I knew it was you when you came in.” She said in a lilting French accent when he had made his way to their table. “Daphne described your hair perfectly.”

Inwardly, Draco winced - over the many years of their acquaintance Daphne had had plenty to say about his hair. In their school days, following the unfortunate incident in fourth year, she had taken to calling him the “platinum ferret”. She really only let off when Draco started seeing Astoria, and of course she couldn’t say anything about it now that her beloved nephew bore the same pale blond locks. At least, not to his face.

“My apologies for the lateness of my arrival.” Draco said, hanging his jacket before sitting down across from her. “My son was not happy that I was leaving.”

Esme smiled - she had a very pretty smile - and shook her head. “Please don’t apologise for being a caring father, it’s a rather appealing quality.”

“I’m considering sending him to Hogwarts early just to put an end to the argument.” Draco said.

There was a pause, then Esme let loose a loud, over-exaggerated peal of laughter. “Oh, you’re funny!” She said, giggling as she reached for her glass of wine. “I like a man who’s funny.”

\---

Scorpius wasn’t sure what to do, so he waited till the next day to consult Rosie; there was something about her that made Rosie seem like she always knew what to do. She was in possession of both keen intelligence and distinct oddness, two factors which made sense to most of the adults who knew the source of her genetic makeup. To other children, Rosie was a force of nature and none dared stand in her path.

Scorpius loved Rosie with the devout solemnity of a disciple combined with a very real need to prove himself worthy. Rosie had practically rescued him from social isolation at school and was the first friend he had ever made on his own (cousins didn’t count). If anyone knew what to do, it would be her.

He explained what had happened the night before then handed Rosie the letter, which she scrutinized solemnly for a few minutes. Scorpius waited with a patience he had for few others, hoping that Rosie would have the answer if he gave her enough time.

Finally, she looked over at him. “Do you want your papa to date this man?”

Scorpius nodded enthusiastically. “Yes!”

“Okay then.” Rosie got a look on her face that was very reminiscent of a look her mother wore when faced with a problem. Getting up, she took parchment and a self-inking quill from the desk in the corner of their living room and brought them over to the kitchen table where Scorpius was sitting "Tell me what to say.”

_Dear H_

_Papa and I would be very happy to meet_

“No, wait.” Rosie said decidedly, striking out their first line. “We should make it look like it’s from your papa."

_Dear H,_

_My son and I would be very happy to meet you on April 1st in the Pax Garden. I am very excited to try your brownies._

_Sleepless in Shoreditch._

“Are you sure you want to leave in the part about the brownies?” Rosie asked when she had finished carefully transcribing.

“It’s so he knows we’re interested in him as a person.” Scorpius said - he was parroting something he had overheard his Aunt Pansy say to his papa, though it had been slightly lost in translation.

“Alright” Rosie shrugged, carefully tearing the scratched out beginning of their letter from the top of the parchment “let’s use mummy’s owl button, it will be more anonymous because they change every week.”

What Rosie referred to as the "owl button" was in actuality a charmed bell that summoned the nearest free ministry owl to Hermione's home office, a perk of her elevated position and a testament to how difficult it was for her to get away from her job. 

(Hermione had spent years working her way through the bureaucratic ranks of the ministry in order to reform magical creature and blood purity laws. As a result, she was the newly appointed Secretary of Foreign and Muggle Affairs. Kingsley had tried to appoint her Secretary of Magical Creatures and Muggle Affairs but Hermione had declined, citing the need for actual representation from the group. Firenze, formerly designated magical creature now designated magical being thanks in large part to Hermione’s efforts, became the first of his kind to hold a position of rank within the ministry.)

All of Hermione’s hard work boiled down to one simple fact for Rosie and Scorpius - access to an owl, provided they were brave enough to sneak into Hermione’s office. Rosie had no qualms about it: the office was technically off limits, but years of hearing stories about how her parents had broken school rules to help Uncle Harry had left Rosie with a somewhat flippant attitude when it came to rules.

(This laissez-faire attitude combined with Rosie's general aptitude for trouble would elicit many muttered expletives from Professors during her years at Hogwarts)

Scorpius only took a bit of convincing; though he was a well behaved child, apt to follow rules and respect adults, he was also quite fixed on both the brownie baking wizard and not seeming like too much of a wet blanket in front of Rosie. Given these two factors, it wasn’t long before the pair were standing before the perch in Hermione’s office, tying their letter to the leg of an official looking eagle owl (favoured by upper ministers for their impressive size and dignified bearing)(Hermione prefered barn owls herself).

“Well that’s sorted.” Rosie said. “Have you thought about how you’re going to convince your papa to go to the festival?”

When Scorpius shook his head, she gently grabbed his arm, tugging him out of the office and back down to the kitchen for another round of planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: 
> 
> 1\. My headcanon is that Ginny’s quidditch nickname is Wingtips Wealsey.
> 
> 2\. Just because this fanfic is Drarry endgame doesn’t negate the fact that in this particular universe, Draco is bi. That he thinks about how much more he would rather be with Harry than Esme on this date says more about mutual attraction and compatibility than it does sexuality and is in no way intended to suggest that Draco is just bi till he meets the right man/woman at which point his sexuality will ping to one end of the Kinsey scale.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I'm quite confident it won't take me a month to update the next one now that the tumult of January is over.

“What are you reading Harry?” Hermione asked, sliding a pint across the table as she sat down beside him in their usual booth at the Leaky. She and Harry were early as they had both come from the ministry where Harry was shopping WWW’s defense cloak prototype to the Head Auror. His visit to Hermione’s office had been undertaken with great trepidation, but Anthony was nowhere in sight (Harry had heard that he was dating again, some bloke from Magical Sports and Games, which seemed altogether too soon if he was being honest).

“This odd letter I’ve received.” Harry pushed it across the table and took a deep pull from the pint.

Hermione scrutinised the parchment, unaware that its writer had focused a near replica of her expression it only a day before.“It’s a reply to the one you wrote that man from the wireless, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, except I didn’t send it.” Harry gave her a searching look, making Hermione scoff.

“Listen Harry, I’m not the type to meddle in someone’s love life, you know that. I mean Ron’s the one who reads wizarding romance novels, not me - and don’t you dare tell him I’ve revealed that disturbing secret.”

Harry frowned. “What, Ron? Do you think?”

“Ask him when he gets here. I think there are more important points though: 1. Are you going to meet him and 2. Are you sure you want to date someone whose handwriting looks like a seven year old’s?

“Maybe he had to have a drink or two, get up the nerve?” Harry read the letter again. “It’s very to the point. Why did I pick such a far off date? Honestly, it’s only just February now. I couldn’t have chosen Valentine’s day?”

“It certainly would have been more romantic.” Hermione said archly. She wasn’t wrong - while the festival was a lively celebration of community it was not exactly the favoured spot for a first date.

“You have to admit that Pax Garden is the best of it, though.” Harry said, fiddling with the parchment. This was also true - Pax Garden sat at the end of a languid maze that had little paths leading into alcoves with statues of different magical and non-magical creatures arranged in tableaus among the flowers. The Garden itself was bracketed on three sides by the hedgerow, ivy dripping down the thick green walls. Arching over its entrance were trellised roses, their blooms hanging full and petulant no matter the season - in fact, all of the flowers within the garden were in perpetual bloom. A winding path shaped by all manner of flowers and leafy green plants lead to a little hollow where a metal gazebo that seemed to be made entirely of more large, white roses stood guard over a modest stone plinth bearing two pairs of hands cast in dark marble. The inside pair was cupped to hold a steady stream of water that gurgled from their depths; the second pair rested gently on the first, fingers touching its wrist, cupping the inner hands as though helping them bare the weight of their burden. The stone beneath them had a repeating phrase etched into its surface: “pax optima rerum” or “Peace is the greatest good.”

“I suppose I can’t fault you for liking it.” Hermione cast her gaze around the room as she spoke and Harry watched her expression go from neutral to concerned. “Don’t look, Harry, but Anthony is at the bar with his new boyfriend.”

Harry did look (how could he not) and felt his stomach drop. It was one thing to have an understanding and adult break up, but it was another entirely to see the man you loved with his hand on another man’s thigh. Harry ducked his head and looked morosely into his pint.

“He’s moved on awfully fast.” Ron said, sliding in beside him.

“Yes, thanks Ron, hadn’t worked that out for myself.” Harry muttered, though there was no malice - Ron’s infamous ability to say the wrong thing had long ago stopped being a source of contention between them.

“He’s a fool anyway. Clearly not meant to be your husband.” Ron nudged Harry. “I think something better will come along.”

“You did mail that letter!” Harry cried, turning to face the traitor.

Ron shrugged but did not defend himself - in fact, he glanced over at Hermione and winked.

“Ron!” She said sharply, though her tone was undercut with mirth. “You can’t meddle in Harry’s life like that!”

“Says the person who connived for weeks to have him meet the bloke who broke his heart!” Ron stopped, frowning. “The Bloke Who Broke His Heart - now that would be a great title for a novel.”

“Focus please. Why did you send it?” Harry tried, and failed, to feel indignant.

“It seemed like the right thing to do - you practically having a fit over the whole thing. I think that letter might be the first sincere thing you’ve said about what you want since you started dating that one.” Ron indicated Anthony with a jerk of his head. “I liked him as a person, yeah? But every time you mentioned your future you had this...resigned look about you. I knew you were being foolish and misunderstanding what Hermione was saying about relationships.”

“Misunderstanding what?”

“The whole being afraid of a good thing, thing. Hermione thought she was giving clear advice, and you thought that advice was ‘compromise everything you want because you’ve found a decent boyfriend’. Hermione and I compromise, but not in a way that makes us fundamentally unhappy. You were unhappy, mate.”

Harry goggled at Ron while Hermione looked smug, as she often did when Ron blasted through someone’s self-involvement with unexpected insight. He was particularly good at doing this to his closest friends, though he reserved it only for the most dire of scenarios.

“Couldn’t have said something earlier then?” Harry gumbled into his pint glass.

“Thought you’d sort it out yourself - I’m glad Anthony cared enough about you to end things when he realized.”

The three of them turned to look at the bar where Anthony and his companion were leaning close, clearly having an intimate conversation. Harry watched for a moment, feeling regret and sadness but surprisingly very little jealousy. What had Anthony said? They both deserved to be happy?

\---

Draco and Esme had been dating casually for about a month when Valentine’s day came around. Draco had never been a fan of the holiday, he found it altogether too fussy and had really only gone along for Astoria’s sake till she had told him she didn’t much care of it either.

Unfortunately for Draco, Esme had no such reservations. She made it quite clear that she expected some sort of display of affection and celebration on the 14th. Because he still wasn’t sure what his feelings for her actually entailed - they hadn’t even slept together yet - Draco went very traditional. He bought flowers, planned to cook her a meal, and purchased a box of specialty chocolates from a stuffy little shop in Diagon Alley. He cleaned the house, set the table for two, and made sure they would not be disturbed.

Scorpius was supposed to be with Pansy, and this arrangement worked itself out till roughly halfway through dinner. Just as Esme was opening the chocolates, the floo flared, admitting a thoroughly disgruntled six year old.

“Papa!” Scorpius cried, immediately stomping across the room to bury his face in Draco’s side.

“Scorpius? What’s the matter? Is Aunt Pansy hurt?”

The little boy shook his head. “I don’t want to stay at Aunt Pansy’s. I want to sleep in my bed.”

Draco gently moved Scorpius backward until they could look into each others’ eyes. “You’ve never been this upset about staying at Pansy’s before. You’ve practically begged to in the past, if I recall.”

Scorpius’ eyes flicked over to look at Esme, then back to Draco. “I missed you.” He said, reaching forward to hug Draco tightly.

Draco understood immediately - he hadn’t dated anyone since Astoria’s death and the presence of a new person in his life was bound to be jarring for Scorpius no matter how much he had professed his longing for Draco to begin dating.

“I’ll floo you back to Aunt Pansy’s and tuck you in to bed, alright?” He asked

Scorpius shook his head. “Papa, why can’t you just meet the wizard from the letters like you’re supposed to? Why do you have to see this lady instead?”

“Scorpius.” Draco warned. “Now is not the time and furthermore, it’s exceptionally rude.” He steered his awful son toward the fireplace and glanced back at Esme. “I’m just going to take him to his Aunt’s and then I’ll be right back.”

Draco returned his son to a frantic Pansy and had some quick words with the child about absconding from one’s caregiver and the politeness of not mentioning other potential love interests in front of one’s father’s current date. He would have liked a longer lecture, but didn't want to leave Esme alone for too long.

When he arrived back he found her wearing her cloak and a very unhappy expression. “I thought that, given our mutual friend, I should at least stay to say goodbye.” She told him quietly.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Scorpius. You’re the first person I’ve dated since his mother passed away and I’m afraid he’s become rather fixated on me dating a wizard he's made up out of speculation.”

“It’s not him, it’s - listen, Draco, I just wanted to date a nice, normal wizard. Go out and have dinner, get drinks, maybe have sex if the mood was right. I don’t want to date a - a wizard who is using me to pretend he’s straight.”

Draco laughed, though he quickly realized it was the wrong reaction. “Esme, I’m not, I promise you. I’m attracted to all genders. I wouldn’t be using you in any capacity - I’m not ashamed of who I am and I don’t care enough about what the rest of the world thinks to want to hide it.”

“I care.” She said, unable to meet his eyes. “Like I said, Draco, I wanted to date a normal wizard.”

“I am normal.” Draco said, feeling irritation prickle at his temples.

“One who isn’t going to leave me for a man.”

“But who could just as easily leave you for another woman?” Draco’s ability to be delicate had dropped out of the fight several minutes previously. “Just because my options for dating are broader than yours does not mean I am any less devoted to my partners.”

Esme shrugged, looking uncomfortable, though she retained a modicum of haughty restraint that irked him.

“I think you were correct about one thing, though.” His temper getting the best of him, Draco flicked his wand, causing the front door to slam open on its hinges. “You do need to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Booo, biphobia.


	8. Chapter 8

February melted into March and then became April, but Draco did not attempt to date anyone else. Esme had left a bad taste in his mouth and besides, it was clear he would need Scorpius to mature a little before he considered dating again. Or date someone Scorpius already knew and liked, which left almost no prospects.

“And you didn’t even get a shag out of it.” Pansy said crudely one Saturday evening as the two of them sipped wine at a trendy bar, part of Draco’s concession to her pleas for a night out. Scorpius was having a sleepover at the Granger-Weasley house. 

“I think celibacy might be a constant in my life till Scorpius goes off to Hogwarts.” Draco did not relish the prospect, but he couldn’t see any way around it.

“Over four years of celibacy?” Pansy shook her head. “That’s an awfully long time.”

“You’re one to talk.” Though she had never come out and said it, they both knew that Pansy had little interest in sex. She enjoyed a solid flirtation, but she hadn’t found a man who wouldn’t eventually try to sleep with her or understood her needs.

“Yes but you actually want to be having sex, Draco, and that’s the difference.” Pansy surveyed the crowd. “You don’t have to marry or even date them - casual sex has never been easier. I bet you could find someone here - that one by the fishtank, for example?”

Draco looked: a man sat at the bar beside a long tank of tropical fish with his back to them. He had dark, messy hair and broad shoulders, nursing a pint of beer as he made idle conversation with the witch next to him.

“For all you know he’s on a date.” Draco said, absently brushing imaginary lint off his robes.

“He’s not, those two witches are together. He’s clearly a third wheel. I bet he’d love it if you talked to him when you went to refill my drink.”

“Ah, your true intention is revealed.” Draco considered - it was tempting, the man was handsome and it had been more than a decade since he had had a one night stand. Almost as long since he’d had sex with anyone except his wife, come to think of it, though there had been a couple of occasions with Theo and Astoria that they had all promised never to disclose to anyone (Pansy knew, of course. But Pansy knew everything.)

Pansy threw back the rest of her Cauldron Mishap (the bar’s signature cocktail) and handed him the empty glass. “Go on, I can make my own way home if need be.”

Sighing, Draco made his way to the bar and leaned against it beside the attractive wizard, though he didn’t dare make eye contact. He signaled the bartender and ordered refills. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned to the man beside him - who was no longer there. In the split second it took Draco to realize this, Harry Potter slid onto the now vacant stool. They locked eyes for a moment, Draco’s stomach doing a little flip that he did his best to ignore.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, though he didn’t sound upset.

“Potter.” Draco looked past him, but there was no trace of a companion. “Drinking alone?”

Harry laughed. “Sad state of affairs, isn’t it?.”

“Surely one of your friends would agree to a drink?”

“I think they’re busy trying to convince Rose and Scorpius to go to bed at the moment” Harry grinned. “I just came from there, actually, stopped by for dinner and got suckered into playing dragons with the two little sods afterward. Scorpius told me I do the best roar he’s ever heard, by the way.”

Draco felt himself soften at this - Scorpius was a shy child, doubly so around anyone older than twelve. “He doesn’t warm up to many adults.”

Harry waved at the bartender. “I think it helps that I come with pocketfuls of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. I’ve been told that my direct line to an endless supply of jokes and pranks is one of my finest qualities.”

“What exactly is it that you do there?” Hermione had mentioned Harry worked with the Weasleys but hadn’t gone into detail and Draco, wanting to seem as though Harry didn’t interest him at all, had not pursued the conversation.

“We have a magical defense branch. During the war, Fred and George invented some fantastic products that had more to do with personal safety than jokes - instant darkness powder, decoy detectors, things that would get you out of a pinch. They certainly did for me on a few occasions. Anyway, Ron and I got involved with the shop because George...wasn’t doing very well, without Fred.” Harry paused to take a sip of the scotch that had miraculously appeared in front of him. “We’d go in after training and help out. One day George and I got to talking. You know, they teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts but it’s so broad. We started narrowing it down to classes that focused on one or two aspects of defense. Pretty soon we had a schedule worked out that fit nicely around Auror training. And when I dropped out, we added more classes. Now I teach those and help George with the defense inventions. Sorry, I’m giving a whole monologue here.”

“I don’t mind.” Draco said, and it was true - somewhere during Harry’s explanation he had sat down on the seat beside him and apparently started in on Pansy’s cocktail.

“Who are you here with, a date?” Harry asked, looking past Draco and down the bar as though an attractive companion might materialize.

“No, I’m here with Pansy…” Draco began, gesturing to the now empty table where she had been sitting. “Or at least I was. I suppose she saw me talking to you and as she can’t see your face, assumed it was the dark haired man she sent me over here to seduce.”

Harry choked a little on his drink and cast a searching look at Draco. “You came over here to hit on a bloke?”

It was nice to see Harry slightly wrong-footed without any of the less pleasant side-affects, so Draco nodded but didn’t say anything, taking another sip of Pansy’s drink.

“I didn’t - how long have you been - sorry, that’s rude." He scrubbed a hand through his hair in a way that definitely did not make Draco want to replace it with his own. "I didn’t know you fancied blokes.”

It was probably the two glasses of wine combined with a significant amount of cocktail that made Draco brave. He leaned conspiratorially toward Harry. “Do I ever.”

**\---**

Harry’s mouth went dry. He had not imagined that his quick stop in for a drink would culminate in Draco Malfoy practically whispering in his ear about how he wasn’t actually straight at all. Let alone in a voice that felt like a jolt of lightening to Harry's insides. He also hadn’t realized how attractive Draco truly was till that moment, the other man leaning so close Harry could smell him - a hint of cloves and expensive soap. Malfoy’s voice had a certain quality at this timbre, it reminded Harry of something or someone he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Malfoy seemed to be enjoying the surprise on Harry’s face as he smirked and leaned back only fractionally, finishing the cocktail he had been drinking before starting in on the wine.

“Well.” Harry gulped, trying to get a hold of himself. “That’s news.”

“Maybe to you.” Malfoy shrugged “I’ve always been open about it. You Gryffindors, so caught up in your own drama.”

“You have to admit, things were pretty dramatic for a minute there.” Harry said.

Draco raised his glass in a toast of acknowledgement. “Fair enough. If I'm being honest, Astoria always told me I was the most dramatic man she had ever met.”

Harry smiled softly. “She sounds like a smart woman.”

“She was. Scorpius takes after the best parts of her, I try to remind him of them as often as I can. I know he’s mine in looks, but he’s hers in personality through and through.”

“From everything I’ve seen he’s a wonderful kid.” Harry chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a moment, weighing his next words. “But you’re not the worst sort yourself, Malfoy. At least, not from what Hermione has told me.”

“And what exactly has Hermione told you?”

“That you like to drink lattes. That you purposefully put Scorpius in a multicultural school where he would meet muggle-born children. And that she considers you a friend, which is probably the highest recommendation you could get from anyone.”

Draco’s cheeks pinked slightly at this and Harry could see him bite back a smile of genuine happiness.”I never would have imagined Hermione and I being friends and yet somehow she has become one of my best.”

“One of her many talents” Harry glanced over at Draco and their eyes met. For a second, Harry wondered if he was going to abandon his faculties and throw himself at Draco Malfoy unbidden. It certainly felt like a distinct possibility - the grey eyes across from him were familiar in a way that had nothing to do with their shared past. Harry could see hesitation and something close to hope in that stare.

“I heard you and Anthony split?” Draco asked nonchalantly, though his hand had come to rest, knuckles barely grazing Harry's, on the bar.

Harry swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to push down the rush of excitement that small movement had caused. “Yeah we broke things off in January.”

“Are you seeing anyone right now?” Draco asked after what appeared to be a moment of contemplation.

“I-” Harry started, then remembered. His upcoming date, the mysterious man from the wireless. The pull he felt toward that vague possibility. Though he felt a similar yearning now, he couldn’t see a future here, not from this inauspicious start - they might get drunk and fuck, Malfoy was certainly attractive enough that Harry’s body had taken immediate notice of the desire the other man inspired. He also felt a need to know the other man better, find out the minute details of his life. But Malfoy didn't seem to be interested in that, and Harry wanted a real, concrete future. A partner and family. It was plain Malfoy was only looking for a one night deal. So Harry averted his gaze.

“Sort of.” He took a long drink from his pint. “There’s something I need to take a chance on, I think. Someone.”

Draco withdrew, his body moving out of the intimate, charged space they had created. “Well” he said, throwing back the rest of his wine. His voice had gone all formal and polite. “I do hope you succeed. If you’ll excuse me it’s quite late and I think I should head home.”

“Malf- Draco, wait-” Harry began, but the other man was already halfway across the bar.

“Lovely chat, Potter. I’ll see you around I’m sure.” He wobbled slightly as he turned but no limbs were left behind in his wake, so Harry had to assume he’s apparated safely home.

**\---**

Stupid. Foolish, pathetic, laughable. He was all those things, and more, though his brain was not quite sober enough to come up with additional synonyms. Draco sank onto the couch in his living room, trying to reckon with the past hour. First he had chatted Potter up, then practically thrown himself at the man, only to be rebuffed. Of course he had been. Potter likely had not forgotten who Draco was, what he had been. And Draco had been foolish enough to think, for a moment, that there was a connection between them - not only in the bar, but at his New Year’s party as well. He had been sure there was something lingering there, waiting to be encouraged. But Potter’s not-so-subtle rejection stung more than he could have anticipated and his subsequent reaction had been nothing short of mortifying.

And what had Draco done? Feeling that humiliation echo across years all the way back to the very first time Potter had rejected him, he’d stormed out of the bar like a child, destroying any chance of even friendship with the other man.

He missed Astoria suddenly, fiercely, and felt overcome with anger that she had left him alone. He knew the thought wasn’t fair even as it sprang up but he let himself feel it for a moment, the rage at having lost her, at finding himself a single father and even worse, alone once again. Then the anger turned to guilt and bitter sadness, and Draco decided it was time to get well and truly pissed.

**\---**

Harry always met Ron and Hermione at their home so they could travel as a group to the Burrow for Sunday brunch. On this particular day he emerged from their fireplace somewhat worse for wear despite a very strong hangover potion - he had stayed at the bar till well after midnight nursing a keen sense of loss that he couldn't quite explain. Scorpius and Rose were sitting on the couch, heads bent together as they whispered fervently. They broke apart when he appeared and flashed him identical innocent smiles - Harry knew they were hiding something but decided that they weren’t his children and therefore it was not his job to uncover their scheme.

“Are you coming with us, Scorpius?” He asked, attempting to brush soot off his jumper - even after using the floo thousands of times he still felt as thought he hadn’t quite worked it out.

The child nodded, though Harry could see slight hesitation on the small, pointed face. “Rosie said there will be lots of people.”

“There are, but they aren’t so bad.” Harry told him. “If you get nervous you can stick with me, alright? Rosie’s grandma makes the best pumpkin pancakes you’ve ever had.” This was true, Molly’s grandchildren were obsessed with her pancakes from the youngest (Molly’s namesake) to the eldest (Teddy). Though the family gathering would be significantly smaller as most of the older children were at school and Andromeda was visiting a friend, it was still guaranteed to be chaotic. Harry figured it would probably be a bit overwhelming for an only child from a family of two.

Scorpius nodded solemnly, turning his attention back to Rose who had tugged on his sleeve to whisper something in his ear.

Hermione and Ron joined them shortly, the latter holding a squirming Hugo who, now quite fast and mobile on his hands and knees, objected strongly to being held.

“Do you mind?” Ron asked, handing the child over to Harry so he could check his hair in the small oval mirror that hung on one of the walls - Harry had spent many years wondering why they had chosen it as a decoration before finally realizing that its sole purpose appeared to be affirming the Granger-Weasley’s grooming habits before they left the house. It made him love them even more.

Hugo babbled up at him, his chubby brown cheeks dotted lightly with freckles, hazel eyes searching Harry’s face for a moment before he broke into a smile that nearly struck Harry dead on the spot.

“Hey Hugo.” He said, bouncing the child slightly in time to the words. “How’re you doing today?”

“Ba!” Hugo giggled, clutching a handful of Harry’s shirt and smacking him soundly in the nose with the other hand.

“No Hugo, we don’t hit.” Hermione said from where she was giving Rose’s hair one last go-over with her wand, ensuring the two puffs on either side of her daughter’s head were neatly arrayed.

“Does he understand?” Harry asked, looking at the child as though he could confirm.

“By age one most children have learned what the word no means.” Hermione, satisfied with Rose’s hair, turned to Harry. “He’s right on target for his developmental milestones too, aren’t you Hugo?” She chucked him under the chin and glanced up at Harry. “Do you want me to take him when we go through the floo?”

Harry looked over at Scorpius who seemed to have withdrawn slightly and looked somehow a paler than usual. He nodded, handing Hugo over to Hermione so he could sit beside the other boy.

“Do you want to hold my hand when we go through the floo?” He asked quietly. “I remember it used to make me feel a little dizzy - still does, if I’m being honest.”

Scorpius glanced over at Rosie, who was trying to tell Ron a story that seemed to have no discernible plot. “I always hold papa's hand. Does Rosie hold someone's hand?” He asked quietly.

“It depends on how she’s feeling. It’s okay to need support sometimes, though, it doesn’t mean you’ll always need it.” This was something he told the kids in his classes when they were frustrated that they couldn’t cast a spell without his help.

Scorpius thought for a moment, then nodded and held his hand out. Harry took it and they walked over to the fireplace together. “We’ll go through first.” Harry told Ron and Hermione.

“See you there!” Rose called out as they disappeared.

Brunch was pleasant and the party smaller than anticipated - Bill and Fleur and their youngest, Luis, were visiting Fleur’s parents in France. Percy and Audrey had arrived with baby Molly in tow, George and Angelina were there with Fred and Roxanne, and Luna had brought her friend Rolph along in what Harry soon learned was a misguided attempt between her and Ginny (conspicuously absent due to a work event) to set him up. Luckily Charlie was back on a rare visit home and had captivated Rolf with tales of Siberian snow dragons so thoroughly that he barely said two words to Harry. That was fine with him - Harry was in no mood for a blind date and still felt upset over the previous night. He half-considered telling Ron and Hermione about it, but was worried about the latter’s reaction as Hermione had become strangely protective of Draco over the past few months. 

Instead, Harry stole pancakes straight from the griddle when Molly wasn’t looking, helped Arthur re-program the new cellular telephone he had received for Christmas and set about building a long train track that ran directly through the chaos with Rose, Scorpius, Fred, and Roxanne. Scorpius stuck very close to Harry, never more than a couple of feet away from him; when they sat down to eat, he pulled his chair close and let Harry fill his plate, answering questions in a quiet voice about what he wanted. Rose sat on Scorpius’ other side and talked animatedly at George, forgetting about her friend at times in her enthusiastic re-telling of what Harry thought must be a dream.

“Are you doing okay?” He asked, leaning down conspiratorially so he wouldn’t embarrass Scorpius. Harry could remember his own first time in the loving, warm noise of the Weasley family and how overwhelming it could be.

“Yes. I’m just not used to so many voices.” Scorpius said, cutting his pancake into quarters with the side of his fork.

“I know, the first time I came to the Burrow I felt the same way.” Harry told him.

“Is your family smaller too?” Scorpius asked.

Harry weighed his response. “I didn’t really have a family” he said at last “well, I had my aunt and uncle, but they didn’t like me very much.”

“What about your mum and dad?”

“They passed away when I was a baby.” Harry said quietly, aware that the topic of conversation was veering close to very personal territory for Scorpius.

“My mummy did too, but I wasn’t a baby.” Scorpius twisted his napkin in his lap. “Papa is doing a very good job with me, though.”

“Now that sounds like something you heard an adult say.”

Scorpius nodded. “My Aunt Daphne said it to my Uncle Blaise. I think she meant it in a nice way.”

“I think she probably did too, but it can be weird to hear someone talking about your family like that.” Harry agreed, silently wishing that Daphne had had enough sense to put up a silencing charm or at least check for little ears before sharing her opinions.

“He’s very good at being my papa.” Scorpius speared another piece of pancake. “I think he would like these. Even though he says sugar isn’t a sensible breakfast food he still lets me have pancakes sometimes. That’s a smart thing to do, even if I don’t always like it.”

“You don’t have to convince me he’s a good father, Scorpius.” Harry told him gently. “I can tell he loves you a lot and anyone who sees how happy you are knows he’s good at it.”

Scorpius nodded solemnly, an expression on his face that seemed far too old for such a small child. Harry wondered where he had gotten the idea that he needed to defend Malfoy’s parenting skills, and whether the Greengrasses had anything to do with it. It didn’t seem worth pressing the issue, though, because Scorpius had rapidly moved on to another topic. Harry listened as he recounted his recent trip to a Quidditch match, and discovered that they shared a favourite team. Eventually George and then Ron joined in on the conversation, which culminated in Molly digging out one of Ginny’s old team robes and shrinking it down to fit Scorpius. Harry wondered briefly what Malfoy would say when his son returned home in a green robe with Wingtips Weasley emblazoned over the shoulders and the Harpies’ logo beneath.

“He’s been your little shadow today.” Molly said as she walked them all to the floo.

“He’s a great kid.” Harry said, holding a hand out to Scorpius, who took it happily.

They were the first to go through, stepping out into Hermione and Ron’s living room. As they entered Harry made a thoroughly juvenile joke about floo rhyming with poo that sent Scorpius into peals of laughter, and they were both so caught up in their merriment that they did not notice Draco sitting on the couch.

**\---**

Draco nearly choked - Hermione had told him to pop by around two and collect Scorpius, mentioning that if Draco arrived before them he should make himself at home. He had been to the Nook before, of course, taking Scorpius for play dates and getting swept up in conversation with Hermione that lasted through several cups of tea. The last thing Draco expected, however, was to see his son stepping out of the floo hand in hand with Harry Potter, the pair of them laughing as though they were best friends. It evoked several emotions at once, a distinct longing being chief among them - briefly he imagined the three of them as a unit, Draco, Scorpius, and Harry. In that flash of fantasyhe could see birthdays and holidays, family dinners, a partnership. His second biggest emotion was frustration - why was it the only person Scorpius seemed to like and approve of had rejected Draco so soundly?

“Potter” He said, a cold edge to his voice that made Scorpius frown. Draco saw this and softened his tone. “Scorpius! You look like you’re having a nice time?”

“Yes papa” Scorpius said, crossing the room to tuck himself into Draco’s arms. “I ate pumpkin pancakes and Mrs Weasley gave me this Holyhead Harpies robe!”

“I’m glad you had so much fun” Draco said, giving Scorpius an extra squeeze - it had been strange and lonely in the house without him for so long.

“Harry helped me too.” Scorpius said, turning out of his father’s embrace to smile at the other man. “He told me how he didn’t have a family growing up and the Weasleys became his family. It’s like how we made our family, you and me and Aunt Pansy.”

Across the room, Harry flashed an uncomfortable grin.

“Are you all ready to head home?” Draco asked.

“I just have to get my bag from Rosie’s room!” Scorpius was off in a flash, leaving the two men alone.

The silence that followed was deeply uncomfortable - Harry wiped invisible soot off his sleeves and Draco looked around the room as though seeing it for the first time.

“Listen, Draco-” Harry began just as the rest of the Weasley-Granger family tumbled out of the fireplace: Rose, Ron and Hugo, then finally Hermione in quick succession.

“Draco!” Hermione said warmly, though her smile dropped slightly as she sensed the tension in the room. “Where’s Scorpius?”

“Just fetching his bag.” Draco said, and couldn’t help glancing over to where Harry stood. Hermione’s gaze followed and she narrowed her eyes in an attempt to discern what had happened in her absence. Scorpius took that moment to re-appear, setting his bag beside Draco before turning to Ron and Hermione.

  
“Thank you for having me.” He said solemnly, his expression breaking when Rose tackle-hugged him onto the couch, shrieking “Bye Scorpo, bye bye bye.”

Once he had extracted himself, giggling, from Rose’s grip, the small boy made his way over to Harry and leaned in to whisper something. Draco watched as Harry bent down to listen, nodded, and enveloped his son in a hug.

It was too much. Draco had to look away, trying and failing to disguise the sadness of his face. He was aware of Hermione’s scrutinizing gaze and knew he would have to endure a gentle interrogation at some point in the future, but for now all he wanted to do was go home and drink a steadying cup of tea.

“We should get going, Scorpius.” He said quietly.

“Okay papa!” Scorpius cried, rushing to Draco’s side to take his hand.

The last thing Draco saw as they swirled away was Harry’s face, and the expression of regret that lingered there only fueled his sense of rejection and shame.


	9. Chapter 9

May 1st came altogether too quickly for Scorpius. Despite his extensive planning - well, Rosie’s extensive planning - he still did not feel prepared for his solo trip to Hogsmeade. He knew that he would be in very big trouble with his father, maybe even enough to be grounded (Draco had never, but Scorpius’ cousins frequently suffered this fate so he knew it was an option).

The problem was, Scorpius reasoned, that his papa had not been very good at choosing a partner so far; of course, his mummy had been fantastic, that was a given. It just seemed to Scorpius that ever since his papa had started thinking about dating again he had been making bad choices. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought of going out with Harry Potter, who Scorpius had come to adore. Scorpius had also been forbidden from bringing up the mysterious letter writer after he burst in during his papa and that awful lady’s date. Really, it left Scorpius with exactly one option - he would go to the meeting with the man and befriend him, then convince his father to do the same. He wouldn’t even mind if they wanted to kiss (well, it was gross, but he wouldn't tell _them_ that.).

Scorpius was at his Aunt Daphne and Uncle Blaise’s house on the 1st. He was ostensibly at a play date with his cousins, Verena and Cassius, who were two and eleven respectively and not very interested in Scorpius. Daphne and Blaise were not neglectful parents but they were busy, and their children spent a lot of time with their nanny. Because Scorpius was quiet in relation to his cousins, she generally left him to his own devices which usually involved reading or drawing in the library.

Rosie had gone over the day with Scorpius so many times that it had become a mantra to him “Floo to the Three Broomsticks, find a family, follow them to the garden.” Rosie said that the festival was huge and Hogsmeade would be busy so it shouldn’t be too difficult a task. Scorpius wasn’t sure how she knew so much, but he was not about to question it. He believed in Rosie the way some muggles believed in their religious leaders, a similar devotion and reverence for whatever guidance she could offer. Scorpius would grow out of it, eventually, and they would find a more equal footing in their friendship. For now, he did as she said.

The library had a nice big fireplace, so when the time came it was quite easy for Scorpius to put down the comic he had been reading and sprinkle some stolen floo powder into the grate. He arrived in the Three Broomsticks at six pm, tumbling out of the fireplace on the heels of a family of four; just as Rosie had predicted, no one in the crowded pub paid any attention when he followed them out the door.

Scorpius made sure to keep his eye on the family as they made their way through the village, though he almost got left behind a couple of times when his attention was drawn to something else. The hardest thing to ignore was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which had opened a shop in the village with displays designed to captivate children. Presently, their windows were filled with fireworks that exploded over and over above a display of their most popular products. Scorpius stopped for a moment to stare as a bright pinwheel whizzed behind the glass then exploded into the shape of a phoenix, before he remembered his mission and ran to catch up.

Once they reached the entrance, Scorpius set out on his own - he knew Pax Gardens well, as Draco loved the winding paths and seemed to be especially fond of the fountain at its center. The letter had not been clear about what time the man would be meeting them, but twilight was beginning to fall and Scorpius felt sure it would be soon. He had said before the fireworks, and fireworks happened when it got dark. He picked a bench facing the fountain and settled in to wait.

\---

Harry almost didn’t make the meeting. That evening, following two days of indecisiveness, he had gone to Hermione and Ron’s house where he ended up recounting the entire tale of his run-in with Draco. Technically it had begun with just Ron, but Hermione had gotten home about halfway through the second re-telling (Ron wanted to make sure he understood every nuance of conversation) and Harry felt foolish about hiding it from her, especially because there were no secrets between the three of them. Also, he suspected Ron was getting far too much entertainment from it all.

Once he had repeated the story in its entirety, Harry collapsed onto the couch, taking the lager Ron offered him with grim determination.

“Honestly Harry?” Hermione said, taking a sip from her own bottle. “This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey!” Harry cried, bolting upright so fast he spilled beer down his front. Ron turned his laugh into a cough and spelled away the mess with the practiced hand of a parent.

“Well it is. You hear this man on the wireless and you’re so captivated by his voice that you let it cast doubt on your relationship with Anthony - yes, I know you broke up for other reasons, but that’s not what I’m getting at. Now you’re attracted to Draco - and by the way, if you hurt him with all of this I will have your head - but you can’t ask him out because of this mysterious man from the wireless? The one who, let me remind you, you _have not actually met in person_?”

“So you think I should, what, stand him up?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hermione crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward to give him an appraising look. “I think you should go meet this man, and not just because Ron will owe me three galleons if I’m right about him. You need to let go of the fantasy that you’ve built up if you’re ever going to find someone; if you don’t go, you’ll always wonder what could have been. If you’re going to ask Draco out he deserves your full attention...and while we’re on the subject,you need to actually ask what he’s looking for instead of being a prat and assuming.”

“I suppose you’re right I - you’ve placed bets on me?”

Hermione shrugged. “You know we bet on everything. You’ve participated in many of them.”

“I just didn’t think you’d bet on _me_.” Harry said, unsure how he felt about it.

“This isn’t the first time, mate.” Ron said, sitting heavily beside Harry on the couch. “This lager was paid for by one of our Harry-bets.”

“What was it?”

Ron and Hermione shared a look. “Whether or not you’d say yes to Ernie Macmillan when he asked you out on Valentine’s day.” Ron said eventually.

Harry groaned. “You don’t just ask someone out on Valentine’s day, it’s not on.” He considered for a moment. “Wait, that means one of you knew in advance? And you didn’t warn me? What kind of friends are you?”

“Friends with children who will take their fun where they can find it.” Hermione said, then her face softened. “We want you to be happy, Harry. If it’s with this mystery man, or Draco, or Ernie-”

“It will not be with Ernie!”

“Whomever you choose. For your sake and the sake of any future partner, I think it would be beneficial to see this meeting through.”

Harry glanced at the clock on their mantle “I’m late, he might have already gone.”

“Only one way to find out!” Ron said, summoning his cloak so that it flew directly into the side of Harry’s head.

\---

Scorpius was missing.

Draco took a deep breath, trying to stave off a panic attack. Scorpius was somewhere out in the wizarding world alone, and there were terrible people out there, Draco knew exactly how terrible from personal experience, and there was nothing between them and Scorpius.

“When did you last see him?” He asked in a strained voice.

Daphne and Blaise’s nanny, Lorna, shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks. “A couple of hours ago. He’s such a good boy, I swear he was fine just sitting in the library.”

“Have you checked your home?” Blaise asked “He knows how to use the floo, maybe he went there.”

“The wards haven’t been tripped.” Draco said, running a frantic hand through his hair.

“What about Hermione’s house?” Daphne asked “Maybe he got bored and went to visit Rose?”

“I’ll go there now. You stay here in case he returns, I’ll send you a message once I know something.” Draco practically dove into the fire.

The Granger-Weasley family was just sitting down to a late supper when Draco burst from their fireplace.

“Scorpius?” He called out, and both parents instinctively recognized the panic in his voice.

“He’s not here, Draco. What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, getting up from the table in the adjoining dining room.

“He was at Daphne and Blaise’s but he’s disappeared.” Draco said, barely able to get the words out. “No one knows when, or how - we think the floo? But we don’t know where he went.”

Hermione put a gentle hand on Draco’s arm to steady him and looked over at Ron “Send a patronus to Isobel.” And to Draco “She was Ron’s partner on the force and she’s still an auror. She’ll be able to help us.”

“Mummy?” Rose said, getting up from her seat at the table.

“We’ll start with the school and then work our way through places he’s familiar with. He has to know the address to get anywhere so there are a limited number of possibilities.”

“Mummy!” Rose said again, tugging on Hermione’s sleeve.

“Rose, this is a very serious situation.” Hermione said, kind but firm. She turned back to Draco. “We could use his hair to track him, maybe, or his magical signature-”

“I know it’s serious!” Rose yelled, stomping her foot. “I’ve been trying to tell you, I know where Scorpius is!”

\---

Harry took the maze at a jog, which was quite difficult given that night had fallen and it was lit only by a slightly eerie glow of fairy lights and his wand. He took a wrong turn twice, coming up short at dead ends and nearly walking head first into the horn of a marble unicorn. Eventually he found the proper route and made his way to the garden at the center of the maze, through the winding path of blooms toward the gazebo and fountain. Harry scanned the scenery for another person, feeling as though his luck truly had run out this time. He was too late.

“Hello?” He called out tentatively, feeling foolish.

“Hello?” Answered a quiet voice that sounded as though its owner was crying. A child’s voice.

Harry took several steps into the gazebo and looked around - there, on a bench nearly hidden in shadow, sat a small figure. A very familiar figure.

“Scorpius?” Harry exclaimed, lifting his wand to cast light on the child as he rushed over to him. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I-I-” Scorpius tried and failed to explain, so overcome at seeing someone he recognised that it was all he could do to cling to Harry and sob. Harry scooped him up into a hug.

“Where’s your dad, Scorpius? Is Draco okay?”

The small blonde head nodded, and Scorpius managed “I came to meet the man from the letter. Papa wouldn’t come and I thought if I went alone and papa saw he was nice he might want to- to meet him. But he didn’t come and then it got dark and I was too scared to leave.”

“What man?” Harry demanded, though he was quite sure he already knew the answer.

“The one who heard me and papa on the wireless and makes brownies. He said he wanted to meet papa and me but papa said it didn’t work that way and then he dated that awful lady instead. And now he’s going to be so cross with me. He probably hates me.” A fresh flood of tears soaked the hem of Ron’s cloak.

“There is nothing you could ever do to make your papa hate you, Scorpius. I know that for a fact.” Harry rubbed a comforting hand in circles on Scorpius’ back. “He’s probably very worried, though. We should get you home, have you ever apparated before?”

“Children under the age of ten are not supposed to apparate unless under dire circumstance” came a haughty, familiar voice from behind them. Hearing it now, Harry wondered how he hadn’t recognised it all those months ago on the wireless. Taking a deep breath, he turned around.

It was altogether too much. First, to know that Harry had heard Draco’s innermost feelings on that blasted show, of all places. Second, that he had rejected Draco in the bar. And third, that Scorpius had chosen his letter from all the others that had been sent to them, and now Draco would have to suffer the humiliation of a second rejection.

“Scorpius!” He said, diverting his attention to the monster of a child who had wrung his heart so terribly over the past hour.

Harry let Scorpius down and the child slowly made his way over to Draco. He looked pitiful, face tear-streaked and eyes red. Draco could see he had been crying for quite some time, and his stern resolve broke at once. He closed the distance between them and scooped Scorpius into a tight hug, picking him up off the ground. “What’s rule number two, Scorpius? What is it?” He demanded, barely able to keep the emotion from his voice.

“You and I are a great family all on our own” Scorpius’s words were slightly muffled as he buried his head in Draco’s shoulder.

“That’s right. That’s right.” Draco cupped the back of Scorpius’ head and hugged him tighter, unwilling or unable to look up at Harry. This was his moment with his son, a reunion that he would not sully with his own feelings of rejection.

“And sometimes Aunt Pansy too.” Scorpius said after a moment. “I’m sorry, papa. I just wanted you to be happy and you’ve been so sad.”

“It’s okay Scorpius, I know, Rose told us everything.”

“Rose?” Harry asked, then seemed to regret it immediately when Draco met his gaze.

“Yes. These two little hellions cooked up a scheme to get Scorpius here to meet, well, you know the rest. To meet you.”

“No papa” Scorpius said seriously. “To meet the man from the letters.”

“I’m afraid we’re one and the same, Scorpius.” Harry said.

Draco was not prepared for the joy that blossomed on his son’s face. “You’re the man who makes brownies?” Scorpius wiggled free from Draco’s arms and put his hands on his hips to assess Harry properly.

“That one, yeah.” Harry said, glancing over at Draco to see his reaction.

“And you like my papa?” Scorpius demanded, all traces of fear forgotten in the face of this new information.

“Well-” Harry began.

“It’s not like that, Scorpius.” Draco said, trying to lessen the embarrassment of the situation.

“Why not?” Scorpius asked, looking from him to Harry.

“Yeah, why not?” Harry asked, taking a hesitant step forward.

“Don’t tease him, Harry, he might be a child but it’s unkind-”

“I’m not teasing anyone.” Harry took another step toward him, reaching out to take Scorpius’ hand.

“See?” Scorpius demanded. “I told you he was the best one from the letters. He wouldn’t lie.”

Draco looked between them, then back at Harry. “But the other night-”

“Draco, I didn’t want to start something with you because I thought a one-night stand was the only thing on offer.”

“What’s a one night stand?” Scorpius asked.

“It’s when grown ups only hang out once and never again.” Draco explained absently.

“That’s weird” Scorpius said. “Why would you do that?”

Harry grinned “There was the added complication that I’d heard this bloke on the wireless and I was embarrassingly smitten with him.”

“You can’t be smitten with someone you’ve never met.” Draco said tartly.

“How fortunate that he turned out to be you, then.” Harry replied, and he was close enough now to reach his other hand out to Draco. “If you’re interested, that is?”

Draco took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Tbh I had an epilogue but it might be too saccharine for even me (and that's saying something because I love my happy endings) so for now we're going to stick with 9 chapters and call it a day.
> 
> Thanks for reading this silly fluff and commenting, I don't often reply because I'm a bit of a shy weirdo when it comes to my own work, but I do love every one of them!


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